Lunar Blood
by Dawnchaser
Summary: Marcail is a pureblood mage betrothed to a paladin in Silvermoon. On her wedding day, Galen, a night elf warrior sends a raid through her ceremony, kidnapping her to ransom her and get even with her fiance. Set in WOTLK, before Cataclysm. Rated M for smut, M/F. No likey no read.
1. Chapter 1

Arcane magic. It was her curse, her salvation, and she hated it. Marcail concentrated as she sat facing the open window of her room as a gentle breeze caught her sheer indigo curtains that swayed to the rhythm of the wind. Eyes closed, lips partly open, cross-legged on the floor as she straitened her back. She gently inhaled, breathing in the sweet smells of Silvermoon and the smells of her mother's kitchen below her. She let her muscles relax, releasing the tension in her tired hands and back. She collected all her distracting thoughts into a pink bubble, and let it drift away with the breeze. She only heard her heartbeat, her connection to all living beings throughout the land. She could feel the land with her soul, as it bled from her body and connected with the soil. She was in utter peace and harmony, unable to listen to the distractions and busy pulses with the normal world. She shut everything out.

"Marcail!" A voice resembling her mother called from below her. "Marcail! Come down please!"

She sighed, and gently blinked her eyes open. _And there goes my morning of peace_, she thought to herself as she picked herself up from the floor and wrapped a turquoise blue sash around her white mage robes. She quickly glanced in the mirror as she combed her deep honey-blonde hair with her fingers. She was still pulling it back out of her face as she floated down the stairs of her parents large townhouse. Marcail was reluctant to be there, not because she didn't love her mother and father, but because her mind was elsewhere. The Lich King had fallen, but there was a whole new world to rebuild, including recovering the rest of Silvermoon. She had devoted her services in Icecrown, an area in desperate need of cleaning up in Northrend. However, with one note her father sent, the general laughed her out of the Argent Vanguard, and her help was no longer needed within the Argent Crusade. She held her head high as she left, not letting any of them see any less than the person she was. Marcail was a proud and powerful pureblood mage. Her bloodlines descended from powerful mages, like Prince Kael'Thalas who was a distant cousin of her family. There was a rumor about possessing the blood of Queen Azshara in their veins from before she turned Naga, but it was never confirmed. However, her family's magical gifts were kept secret from the Horde. Prince Kael'Thalas still betrayed his people in the end, and he was still viewed as a traitor. However, his talent as a mage was never questioned.

Marcail sighed again as her slippered foot touched the ivory stone of the first floor of the townhouse. She heard murmuring in the kitchen as she glanced to the massive courtyard, already covered in red, yellow and white flower decorations and tables with deep red silken tablecloths. The shrubbery had been manicured especially close and enchanted brooms and feather dusters roamed the house. Looking closer into the courtyard, an altar carved out of fel iron stood at the front, as it glowed with the powerful emerald fel taint that her own eyes glowed with. A shiver swept through her bones. In less than twelve hours, she would be standing on that altar, ready to be sacrificed like a lamb. She was no more than a mere tool, and she was powerless to fight it. A snort of irony came from her as she dropped her head into a palm. Her, a Dawnfire, powerless. Her father had preached to her so many times before that it was impossible.

"Marcail!" Her mother's voice called once more. "I do not wish to call you again!"

"Coming, Mother!" She answered, as she hiked up her robes and trudged to the kitchen. As she rounded the doorway, she caught sight of a tall, male blood elf with hair like her own.

"Hayden?" The girl's face lit up, as she recognized her younger brother. He matched her smile, and Marcail ran to him, jumping in his arms. "Hayden!" She squeaked.

"Marc the narc!" He teased, hugging her back. She pushed him away as her eyebrows and mouth formed strait lines across her face.

"I am not a narc," she crossed her arms. Hayden laughed as he tousled her freshly-made bun. "Sweet Sunwell, Hayden," she gritted through her teeth, as she ducked away from him and tried to fix the mess. "Why did you come again?"

"How could I miss seeing my sister get married?" He grinned.

"You are just begging for a frostbolt, aren't you?" She answered.

"Children," Their mother, Una, intervened, as she looked up from her workspace where she was making sweet pumpkin rolls. "You two haven't seen each other in years, and this is how you act?" Marcail turned to her younger brother. Though he was a pain, she really was glad to see him again.

"Have you cleaned up more of Kael'Thalas' forces?" Marcail asked.

"I think we have them under control for now, but you've got the short end of the stick. I heard Icecrown's a real picnic right now," he raised an eyebrow at her.

"I know," she rolled her eyes, "I wish I could be there."

"It's no place for a young lady of your stature," her mother chided, as she kneaded the light orange colored dough. Marcail wanted to fight back, she even had her words on the tip of her tongue to shoot back. _Icecrown is excatly where a 'lady of my stature' should be! It's where you and father should be, too._ But she had already gone through those words months ago. She was defeated. There was no other future for her than to get married to the man who was chosen for her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hayden grimace. Either he felt extreme sympathy for her, or he assumed he was next.

"Come, brother, let me reintroduce you to Silvermoon. There have been a few changes since you were last here." Marcail was anxious to get out of the house.

"Lead the way," he nodded, as they started for the door.

"No teleporting! You both need to be back in time to get some rest!" They heard their mother call after them as they reached the front door.

.

"Sweet Sunwell, you have no idea how crazy I am going here," Marcail explained as the siblings walked side-by-side down the golden streets of the Walk of Elders. "I've been trapped here for three months already!"

"I wish I could have made it here sooner," Hayden sighed, scratching his chin.

"You're here now," she gave him a weak smile.

"Have you even met the guy?"

"Yes." She answered, and paused. "He's friendly and polite. His younger sister is quite agreeable, and so is his father. However, his mother sends chills down my spine."

"Has she said anything to offend you?" An eyebrow shot up from her brother.

"No, nothing like that," a wave of her hand made him lower his brow, "she's just-" She thought for the right word, "different. She lacks the warmth the rest of the family has."

"A whole family of paladins," Hayden murmured.

"Yes, the Lightbringers, they're all very skilled. I've seen them fight. They're pretty ruthless. I've never fought any paladin, Horde or Alliance, more agile and powerful than Nellan." She explained.

"Is that his name?" Her brother asked inquisitively.

"Yes. On one of our 'outings' I asked to duel him. I didn't believe all the stories mother and father boasted to me, so I wanted to embarrass them. I was very surprised, I expected hubris attempts at cutting me down, but I was not expecting raw talent. It ended with a draw."

"Really?" Hayden couldn't believe what he was hearing. His sister was a frost mage, and nigh impossible to defeat. Even with multiple enemies, they would fall before her. He couldn't even match her power with his own fire magic. He got close a few times in childhood, but she always gained the upper-hand at the last minute.

"This is why I have been requested as his wife." She sighed. "I understand that our people have always had trouble with arcane magic, but I fear this is too much." Hayden blinked at her.

"You lost me, Marc. What in Sunwell are you talking about?" It was her turn to blink.

"What? They didn't tell you? But how," she stammered, "how much have they told you?"

"Father told me you were marrying into a family of 'pristine paladins' if I remember correctly. He told me he arranged the marriage and it was time for you to marry and carry on the bloodline since I've been gone so long." He shrugged. They both knew the relationship with Hayden and their father was strained.

"Hmm," Marcail frowned. "They left out something. They want me to marry Nellan because they believe our mage bloodline mixed with his raw talent and brute strength in the Light, will produce blood elves with enough arcane energy to be immune to our addiction. Our 'offspring' would be very, very powerful paladins."

"What kind of crockery is this?" Hayden demanded.

"Hayden, did father ever tell you he found a cure for the Wretched?"

"No, because I wouldn't have believed him!"

"Yes, you are very stubborn," she gave him a half smile, "Hayden, our blood cures them."

"That's impossible." He shrugged her off.

"You wish to see a demonstration?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh," Hayden hesitated, teetering on the edge of believing her, or believing her insanity.

"Come," she pulled a scarlet red cloak out of her bag and tied it around her shoulders. Then she grabbed his arm and started towards the gates leading out of Silvermoon.

.

Marcail took her brother to the ancient ruins of Silvermoon, where countless victims, who succumbed to their arcane addiction roamed free, hoping to prey on weaker magical creatures they could siphon the magic out of. Hayden grimaced at the zombies, moaning in search of their endless thirst. She pulled the hood up on her cloak, and stepped over the boundary into their territory.

"Are you coming?" She asked, glancing behind her to see her brother looking ill.

"The population has grown," he trailed off, as he followed his sister slowly. He felt sick to his stomach. He knew that one slip, and he could be one of these beasts. He observed the area around the Wretched's territory. It seemed like a fog had drifted into the land, making it gray and solemn.

"There," Marcail stopped in the path, and then ran behind some shrubbery. She motioned for Hayden to follow her. He knelt down beside his sister as he looked beyond, to see a Wretched, currently digging at the ground.

"What is he doing?"

"Who knows," she shrugged. "Careful, these guys are very feral and they will try to take you. We don't want to harm him." She whispered, as she came from behind the bushes, gently walking towards the corrupted blood elf. Immediately, he stopped what he was doing and rose from his spot, staring at her with a strange expression. The addiction had even contorted his face, as she couldn't make out if he was male or female.

"Easy," she cooed, showing her hands. "I won't hurt you." He appeared to be in some sort of trance in her presence.

"Marc?" She heard her brother's uneasy voice.

"Shh!" She tried to keep him silent as he came up next to her. He was currently looking in the opposite direction, away from the Wretched they discovered.

"Marc, look there," he touched her shoulder as she turned around. There were two more who were looming in, watching them.

"They're just curious," she said. "Get the goblet out."

Hayden removed a wooden goblet from his bag, as he watched Marcail take a dagger from her bag. The Wretched all circled them, hesitantly coming in closer.

"Give me your hand," she said, as she took the goblet from him, he extended his arm to her. She held the dagger to his wrist and brought the goblet below it. She looked into her brother's eyes as he nodded, allowing her to go through with it. She quickly sliced through his flesh, as Hayden hissed, but remained still, as blood seeped down into the goblet. Something stirred the Wretched beings, as they made feral noises and aggressiveness flashed on their warped faces. They snarled at each other, and drool dripped from their fangs.

"Don't make any sudden movements," she warned, as she took the full goblet and rested it down on the ground and stepped away. Hayden bandaged his wound, as he followed his sister by backing away toward the trees. They stood there and watched, as the three of the zombie-like creatures clearly showed an interest to the goblet of blood. One of them lunged for it, as he clutched the goblet and greedily drank from it, while another two pounced on top of him, trying to snatch it away. Hayden's blood spilled, as they all started to fight. One still tried to salvage the spilled blood on the ground, while another licked the goblet.

"I can't watch this," he started to turn away, when she grabbed his arm.

"Wait." Her gaze still on the unsettling scene. The one that got the first goblet dropped to the ground, rolling around as if in pain, as guttural yelps echoed through the trees.

"What is this? Have you gone completely insane?" Hayden was completely disgusted.

"Look, he's beginning to change," she pointed to the one who grabbed the goblet first. He looked closer and it was true! The gray skin started to gain color again, as mangled limbs from starvation started to change back to normal. His hair started growing back in seconds. Finally to complete the transformation, his eyes opened, and returned to the normal blood elf color of emerald green. The other two, however, kept trying to salvage the spilled blood and stayed as they were.

"Sweet Sunwell," Hayden swore as he was frozen in disbelief, but Marcail's reaction was different. She swore.

"The other two didn't change." She sounded flustered.

"What happens now?"

"Well," she looked toward the direction where the two Wretcheds were, as they had run out of the blood, and now were looking for more. "This might not end well."

One of them turned to the mages and let out a feral hiss. He lunged toward Hayden, but his sister stopped him with cone of cold. The creature fell lifelessly to the ground. She looked around.

"Where did the other one go?" Hayden asked. Their curiosity was short lived, as the second creature came from behind him, grabbing him around the neck in a headlock.

"Hayden!" His sister cried, as her brother struggled with the creature, before unleashing flamestrike, as a pillar of fire engulfed him. The creature screamed and fell to the ground, writhing in pain as the flames devoured him whole. Marcail scurried closer to her brother as she tried to get a good look for injuries. He squirmed, trying to keep her back.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he stated, shrugging her off. She backed away once she was sure she could believe him. As a fire mage, Hayden had grown an immunity to his own spells. "Why did that one attack me?"

"He must have wanted more blood," she trailed off, looking down at the two dead Wretcheds, as her heart ached for them. Seeing two more of her people, now lost forever from the addiction to arcane magic. She tried to focus on the one who had a successful transformation. Marcail came forward, kneeling at his side and pulling the hood of her cloak down as he began to regain consciousness.

"My lady," he said in confusion. "I was-" he stammered. "I was trapped in a nightmare."

"Yes," she nodded, offering him a blanket and putting around his shoulders. "Tell me your name."

"I-" He shook his head, "my lady forgive me I can't remember. I've been lost for so long. And you saved me?" He asked.

"You succumbed to your addiction," Marcail explained in an empathetic gaze, as she explained how her brother and she brought him back. She left out the blood detail, and when he asked how she shook her head and said she didn't know. She told him to seek refuge in Silvermoon.

"But don't forget to check in with Orick Lightbringer. He will give you aid in your new life." The blood elf nodded and thanked her, as he jogged out of the Wretched territory.

"I can't believe it, Marc, you weren't lying." Hayden shook his head as she rose from her position on the ground.

"I know it's not pretty, but there is something about our blood that heals them. Mother found out when she journeyed too far off of a path, and her hawkstrider lost it's footing, sending them tumbling down a rocky hill. She told me she had a bad gash on her leg, which seemed to extend from her ankle to her knee. Before she got a chance to bandage it, she noticed a lost Wretched lurking in the trees. She started to reach for her wand, but he lunged himself at her, and bit down on her gash." Hayden cursed. "She told me after she threw him off of her, the same thing we observed happened to him."

"This is insanity," her brother shook his head, as they started down the path to Silvermoon.

"It's the truth. This is why mother and father betrothed me to the Lightbringers. They have such high status as Blood Knights, and their own bloodline is full of paladins."

"Then why can't this guy marry another paladin?" Hayden demanded. His sister chewed her lip.

"I told you, they all think that mixing our bloodline will produce stronger knights." She shrugged.

"Didn't you fight this?" Her brother asked, curling his lip up in anger. She stopped walking and turned to him.

"Don't you think I did?" She demanded, fire flashing through her eyes. "I've been begging them for weeks to end this betrothal. They refuse to listen!"

"You need to push harder on this!" Hadyen frowned, "Anyway, why not use our blood for good? Like cure all of the Wretched instead of making you do this?"

"Hayden, we don't have enough blood to feed the entire horde of those creatures. As you saw, it requires a good amount of blood for it to work." She explained. "We could never cure all of the Wretched if we tried, Hayden." Her brother's expression grew stoic, as they continued to walk back to Silvermoon in silence.


	2. Chapter 2

"Galen!" A female voice called in Ironforge, as the sound of running feet on the iron floor grew closer. The night elf male turned around from the flight master, to see an old friend trying to catch up to him. Galen waited for her to catch up, as she leaned over and rested her hands on her knees, panting heavily.

"What is it Keina?" He asked, hurriedly.

"I wish to come with you," she said, as she stood up to her full height and smiled.

"No," he responded gruffly, as he paid the flight master and slung his bag over his shoulder.

"Why not?" Her dark green eyebrows furrowed in frustration

"This mission is way too dangerous for you," he answered. He turned to her and looked in his old friend's eyes. "Keina, I want you to stay here. I will be back in a week."

"I can't stay here knowing that you are going off to your death."

"I'll be fine," he smirked, some of his dark navy blue hair falling over an eye, "the Horde hasn't managed to take me down yet."

"That doesn't mean-"

"See you around!" He said, as he mounted a bird and took off into the air, "And don't you follow me!" He warned, as the female glowered at the fading image of Galen disappeared into the rafters of Ironforge. Then, she turned to the flight master, asked where he was going, and bought her own passage to where Galen would land.

.

Marcail and Hayden trudged into the gates of Silvermoon City, and almost immediately they were met by a tall paladin who stopped them both in their tracks.

"Marcail," he said, his eyes full of concern as he put his hands on her shoulders, "where have you been? Are you hurt? Your mother said you left the city." The paladin was silenced by Marcail putting a hand to his chest.

"I'm fine, Nellan. I just went out for a walk with my brother." She explained, and turned toward her brother as the paladin released her. "Nellan, this is my younger brother Hayden. Hayden, this is Nellan, my fiance." The two men eyed each other. Nellan had chestnut hair, and was slightly taller than Hayden. He was dressed in a Blood Knight's uniform, and draped in a dark scarlet cape, similar to the one his sister was wearing.

"Hayden," the paladin stood a little taller as he stretched out an arm to shake the brother of his fiance's hand. Hayden stiffened as he accepted it.

"Nellan," he returned the strained energy as they dropped the handshake. "I wish I could say I have heard a lot about you," Hayden tested how much he could get away with.

"Perhaps you would, if you were in Silvermoon more often." Nellan answered.

"He's so charming, Marc, just where did you say you found him again? Oh right, you didn't find him." Hayden narrowed his eyes as Nellan shot daggers back.

"Hayden!" His sister hissed at him. "Please, stop this." Nellan backed down first but didn't apologize.

"Your mother said you left Silvermoon, and I figured you went to the ruins." The paladin's gaze fell on the girl. "You gave them your blood, didn't you? Are you injured?"

"No," she answered.

"Are you sure?" The paladin reached for her, but she backed away.

"Nellan," she said firmly, "I'm more than capable of handling myself. I am not a child."

"Of course you are," he agreed. "I just wanted to be sure." Marcail forced a smile his way. After all, they were going to spend the rest of their lives together, she might as well try to be pleasant.

"Thank you, really. But I'm fine." She caught the hardened stare of her brother pressing in the back of her head. She started a curtsey, "I must be going, Nellan. There is much to do before tomorrow, as I'm sure you do, too." The paladin nodded in agreement.

"Until tomorrow, Marcail," he grasped her hands and leaned in to her and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. Marcail allowed him, and looked down at her feet, feeling a gentle blush spill on her cheeks. They split, as Hayden still gave the paladin an uneasy stare over his shoulder.

"I don't know about this, Marc," Hayden murmured to his sister.

"I don't have a choice, Hayden." She answered.

.

That night, as Marcail was preparing for bed, she heard a heated argument going on downstairs. She heard her brother and her father's voices, and knew exactly what it was about.

She couldn't really blame her parents for setting the marriage up, Una and Fergus Dawnfire were looking out for their daughter. Along the lines of strong children, they knew that the Lightbringers would give their daughter with good fortune. They knew that she would always be protected in the Lightbringer family, and would never suffer from financial or class troubles. In a way, Marcail understood why they betrothed her to Nellan, but she also wanted her own selfish freedom to do what she wished.

It was the eve of her wedding, and her younger brother was fighting for freedom. She had to put a stop to it, the wedding was inevitable now, and she just wanted a few hours of peace. She glided down the stairs, her delicate bare feet touching the cold stone. As she tied her long silk robe around her middle, she entered into her father's study, where the two male members of her family were arguing.

"Hayden! Father! Please stop this," she ordered, as she looked at the two engrossed in a flaming argument.

"How can you do this to your own daughter?" Hayden demanded, not even acknowledging his sister's presence.

"You would prefer to see her end up a spinster? I for one, will not have her hungry on the streets!" Fergus shot back at his son.

"You can take care of her!"

"She can't inherit this house as a female and you know that!"

"Then I'll take care of her!"

"Ha! What would the city say about that? They would think we were inbreeders like the humans and savage like the night elves!" Their father pointed a finger at his son. "You will do _nothing_ to interfere with this marriage. We've already long given up on you! Your sister was always the one who listened. She was always the more powerful one, while you have always fumbled around in the dark!" He spat. Marcail gasped, covering a hand to her mouth. She looked over at Hayden, who had a crazed look on his face.

"Fine," her brother finally said in a calm voice, as he turned on his heel.

"Hayden where are you going?" She asked, trailing him.

"Back to Quel'Danas, where my help is actually needed." He grumbled, as he walked up the stairs to gather his things.

"But, you'll miss everything! I can't go through with tomorrow without you!"

"You've been fine all these years without me," he pointed out, not stopping as he entered the guest room his things were in.

"I've been away in Northrend for most of the time. Please, Hayden, Father didn't mean to be cruel, he's just frustrated. I've missed you, I don't want you to go." She begged, fearing that he would fade away into Azeroth again and she wouldn't see him for a few more decades.

"Marcail," he said so sternly, as he whipped around that she jumped a little. "You need to get out of this house, away from Mother and Father, and start to grow on your own."

"That's not fair," her lower lip trembled.

"As long as you let them control your life, it is impossible for your own happiness." Her brother slung his bags over his shoulders and started to walk out. Marcail was frozen in her tracks. His mind was made up and she knew there was no bringing him back. He stopped at the door, before adding another comment. "Please break free, sister." His voice as smooth as a whisper to hide the emotion in it. And with that he was gone, and all feelings of joy left with him.

.

A small flame in Eversong Forest lit up, as it's wielder held it close to a parchment, and studied it.

"What the hell are you doing?" A whispered feminine voice demanded. "Put that out or the guards will see us!"

"If we don't know the map, how are we supposed to know where we're going?" A more masculine voice responded lightly.

"That's enough you two," a stronger, deeper male voice warned, "Blood elves can see almost as well as I can in the dark. Put that out." The other male voice grumbled.

"Galen," a dwarven voice hoarsed out in the dark, "we still bloody-well need t'look at the map! Silvermoon innit easy to navigate."

"Don't worry," the deep voice responded. "I know just where we're going. Now all of you get some sleep and recover. We are going to need it." With that he dismissed the camp, and they all obediently settled down.

.

At dawn, the small camp carefully hidden in Eversong gathered all their belongings. On the path nearby, there was a sound of a nightsaber growling. Galen froze, as he turned to the path to see the night elf he left in Ironforge.

"Someone go get her!" He ordered, as a paladin ran down the hill to guide Keina to the camp. As she walked up to them, Galen slammed into her, pushing her up against a tree.

"Keina, I told you to stay," he hissed, words dripping with venom.

"I said I wanted to come," she bared her teeth at him.

"What in hell am I going to do with you?" He demanded.

"Use me! I can fight!" She said, her voice unwavering.

"Galen, with all do respect, we could use a rogue in this plan," a female human's voice spoke up. The male night elf hesitated, and then realized they were wasting valuable time.

"Fine," he released her, as he walked back to the group. "Prepare yourselves," he ordered.

Acid flasks, arrows, swords and daggers were all armed carefully on the warriors. Keina laced her bracers, while the paladin armed himself with his polished shield. Galen took the map of Silvermoon City, and laid it upon the grass.

"Gather around," he said, his voice gruff and commanding. The six all came forward in a circle around the map. "We all know our roles but I will go over once more as a refresher. Keina, you are to gather as many guards in our path as you can, and confuse them. Sap them, vanish, cloak of shadows, I don't care, as long as those guards stay away from our party at all times." The rogue nodded. "After Kenia has them locked down, I will lead the party up through the Walk of the Elders, and into the Royal Exchange. While Darrick and I collect the elite guards inside the house, the twins will charge their pets in through the crowd to confuse them."

"Aye, m'brother n I won't let y'down." One of them pledged.

"Sarah," he looked at the human female, "once you see that a defense is building, you get in there and give them a good howl of terror. After they are all running amuck, I will come in to grab the girl. Once I have her, do not, I repeat, _do not _stick around any longer. You get the hell out of there. All of you. We will meet here," he pulled out another map, and pointed. "Where we will regroup, and get ready for the long road to Stormwind. But be warned, any stragglers who don't make it to this point after an hour, will have to make the journey to Stormwind on their own. Or catch up to the group. Understood?" The group nodded in sync. "Perfect. Let's get this started."

.

"Please do stop fussing with your hair," Una chided, as she pinned another pulled strand of hair on her daughter's dark blonde hair.

"It hurts," she shrugged, "so I loosened some parts up." Una and Marcail stood in her chambers, as the finishing touches were applied to the bride.

"There, now if you don't touch it, it should be fine," Una smiled as she tucked a small white flower on the side. "And don't cry, you'll smudge your eye blackner," her mother lead her to the mirror and stood beside her.

Marcail carefully observed the reflection. She stood in a white, silken dress, with sleeves that were thin and hugged her arms, until they fluted out into wide cuffs around her wrists. Tiny silver beads had been sewn along the corset-like middle, and they glittered in the morning glow every time she moved. White ribbons laced the back of the dress, as they moved slightly in the breeze from the open window, letting in the essence of Silvermoon creep into the home. The silk spilled to cover her long legs, as the material gathered at her feet, and trained out behind her. Two female elves, both with honey-blonde hair and creamy complexions stood side by side. Marcail in her wedding gown, with her veil pushed back, and her mother standing next to her, in enchanting sapphire blue robes. Suddenly, she heard a sob.

"Mother?"

"It's nothing dear," her mother replied, pinching the bridge of her nose to keep from smearing her own makeup. "Oh darling, I can't believe you've grown up so fast." She dropped her hand and pulled her daughter into a tight embrace. "Now you're getting married and you'll be starting a family of your own." She pulled away so she could look her daughter in her eyes, "I love you, Marcail. You do know that, right?" The girl slowly nodded. "Good-" she sniffed back tears, "good. Come on then, let's go get married." Una gave a teary smile, as she escorted her daughter down the stairs, holding the trail of her dress.

Downstairs, her father waited for her, as she gently took his arm. Her father smiled at her, and she could see the misty look in his own eyes, as he kissed her cheek.

"Are you ready, dear?" He asked. Marcail gave a hesitant bob of her head, as Fergus and his daughter stood at the doorway to the courtyard. Her veil was pulled over her head, as she heard music, and everyone sitting in the courtyard stood and looked behind them. Her father took the first step, for his daughter felt her own feet go numb. As they walked down the isle, she recognized high counselors and political advisers to the Horde. A stinging sensation fled to her nose as she looked ahead to her patiently waiting groom. He was dressed very handsomly, as a look of wonder swept over his face as he caught her eye. He was in shock of how beautiful she looked. Her father passed her side, as he went to sit with her mother, and Marcail stood next to Nellan, who looked down to her with a complete and genuine smile.

"You look stunning," he murmured. Marcail couldn't find her words, so she gave a small nod of the head in appreciation. The priest began to speak words, but she couldn't hear anything anymore. The ceremony had begun, and she started her chant that she had begun the night before. _Gods, hear me. Gods, hear me. Let me be free. Gods, hear me._

She chanted and prayed, until she started mixing her words and became a strange blur in her head. _By Gods, what am I doing? I can run! Just like Hayden and I can go find him! I can run away right now and never let this happen._ She narrated, as she glanced to her nearest exits. _I don't have to go through with this. _She finally decided it was time her feet carried her way away from Silvermoon, when she heard a shrill scream from the back of the courtyard. Everyone turned to see two large panthers, running through the seats, and as people quickly rose, their claws came slashing and tearing through the crowd. A few people, she observed, ran away with the danger. Others, like her father and other stronger members of the Horde, started fighting back.

That's when the arrows came. A flurry rained down upon the crowd, as two dwarven hunters emerged, pinning the defense of their enemy. From between them, a warlock emerged, as a felhound raced into the crowd. She saw another felhound going strait for the enemy warlock, but the human got her spell off first, sending the crowd scattering in fear.

She turned to see Nellan, a few yards away, locking swords with another paladin. This was either her chance to escape or help her friends and family. Without hesitation, she picked up her skirts, and got closer to one of the hunters. She gave him a few good frostbolts, and a corner of her lips turned upward. He was frozen. She narrowed her eyes, as she focused a few more attacks on him, sealing his fate. Unfortunately, she hadn't kept an eye on his pet, or the other dwarf.

Suddenly, she felt pain shoot up and out through her body. She felt a damp and warm liquid pour down her back. As she moved her arm, she cried out in pain. Looking to her shoulder, an arrow had gone strait through her, the arrowhead had pierced through her muscle and flesh. Through anger, she grabbed the arrowhead, and snapped it, as she cried out again, the movement through her muscles, and the wooden arrow grinding on her clavicle. She tossed the arrowhead away, as she braced her stance to keep from falling over in shock.

She took a good look at the man who shot her, and started to cast a frostbolt. He readied another arrow, as anger and sheer hatred flashed between them. Suddenly, she saw a large male night elf with navy blue hair grab his shoulder, as his arrow went flying harmlessly into the sky. _Stupid_, she thought, as she let her frostbolt go. She readied another as she watched the dwarf cringe in pain, but not before she heard footsteps behind her. Whirling around, she came face to face with the male night elf. She reacted immediately, casting frost nova, as she jumped back. He reached for her with his long, muscular arm, when she hit him with a cone of cold.

Fury flashed his face, as she dodged out of his reach. With a sweep of her arm, she protected herself with a barrier. She shot off a frostbolt, just as he finally broke free of her icy bonds, and charged her. His intent was to stun her, but with that barrier, it didn't work. She shot him with another cone of cold, as she kept dodging back as far as she could. She predicted his every move, as her swift and agile body dodged every grab he made towards her. _Why does he keep doing that? He could easily cut me down at this distance._

What she never expected was when she was suddenly halted, as she crashed her back up against the wall of the courtyard. A mixture of joy and smugness replaced his anger, as he had her right where he wanted her. Fear struck her to her bones, as she realized she underestimated this dark haired warrior. He had chased her into this corner. With one swift move he brought down his axe on her barrier, shattering ice shards everywhere. He quickly cuffed her on the side of her head, knocking her unconscious. He let out a shout, as he slumped the girl over a broad shoulder, as the party started finishing with their opponents, stunning them or distracting them to get away.

And with that, the party ran out of the house, and all ran toward Eversong Woods. The crowd chased them, calling for all available guards nearby, but there were none to be found. Just as they reached the gates, the alliance party all quickly mounted up and ran into different directions. A few chased them, but it was pointless, as the alliance party quickly disappeared into the landscape.


	3. Chapter 3

"How the hell did this happen?" An enraged Fergus demanded from a guard, as he gestured to the mess of a courtyard. "And what's worse, those _monsters_ have my daughter!"

"Fergus," Una tried to console her husband, even though she was just as upset. "We will find her."

"Una, you know what the Alliance does to prisoners. That is if she's still-" He couldn't say the word, as he choked up and turned away from the guard.

"Fergus," a male voice aproached the couple, "we will find her. And we will get her back." They looked to see Orick Lightbringer, his expression hard and gruff, as he crossed his arms. "I have every available asset to track them down. Do not worry." Orick looked at the wreck in the courtyard. "Someone," he hollered in agitation, "get this mess cleaned up!"

.

Galen Moonblade paced at camp. This was the rendezvous point they had all agreed on, but Sarah hadn't made it yet. Everyone else staggered in intervals to the meeting place, and according to Darrick, it was 'smooth sailing'.

"Galen," Gorrim spoke, as he stopped polishing his axe, "yer makin' me crazed."

"Gimme a few minutes alone w'the girl." Thorin growled, his gaze focused on the unconscious blood elf bound and rested in the yellow, dying grass.

"Restrain yourself," Galen snapped.

"She came close t'killin' Gorrim!" Thorin snapped back.

"Ach, Thorin, y'think a lass t'size of a wee mouse could take me down? Yer killin' me." Gorrim scoffed as he rolled his eyes as he kept polishing his axe. The paladin was patrolling the area, and the rogue was ripping the crooked seams of a pair of leather gloves.

"Keina, how long has it been?" The night elf demanded.

"56 minutes." she replied.

"Light's breath, what's taking her so long?" Darrick demanded, as he rode up on his horse to the group. "I've been scouting all over Ghostlands, and so far I've eradicated the scourge for a while, but I've yet to see any Horde."

"Sarah knew the time limit," Galen murmured. "If she isn't here after the full hour is up, we are leaving."

"Galen-" Darrick protested.

"She knew the time limit!" The night elf barked back. It killed him to leave his comrade behind, but they all knew the risks this mission involved. "Pack up. Everyone." He took his swords and sheathed them in leather holders on his back. As everyone slowly packed up their materials they were working on, a lone horseman came upon the foggy horizon.

"We 'ave company," Gorrim growled, as his panther came to his side with the alarm in his master's voice. The hunters raised their weapons, ready to strike, when a familiar voice called out.

"I'm here! I'm here!" The rider appeared through the fog, as she removed the hooded cloth around her face.

"Sarah," Galen's mouth twitched. She almost missed the group. "Good to see you in one piece. What took you so long?" His brows furrowed in frustration. Surprise rushed over the warlock's face.

"I had to fight off a few hundred scourge on my way here. It seemed they wanted a piece of me stuffed over their fireplace. Sorry I'm late," her eyebrow twitching in sarcasm. Then the warlock's gaze drifted to the blood elf still lying in the grass. "You shouldn't leave such a valuable package just lying there. What if she escapes?"

"Until we can get into Southshore, I can do nothing about it." Galen shrugged. "Darrick, take the arrow out of her shoulder," the warrior demanded. He had watched her snap the arrow from her body. It stirred his curiosity, for most mages he knew would first try to remove it with a healer before finishing a battle. The paladin yanked the wooden arrow from her shoulder, as blood poured out of the wound. He healed her enough to stop the bleeding, and rolled her on her back. His gaze fell to her to her creamy breasts, which were currently enhanced by her corset. He gripped her chin, pulling her head up to get a good look at her face.

"She's a pretty little thing, too bad she's Horde." He finally observed, as he released her. The warrior stood behind him, and after the paladin backed up, Galen picked up the tiny elf and tossed her over his plated shoulder like a rag doll.

"I don't think this is the best way to restrain her," Sarah pointed out, "She might try to get away from you."

"Enough," the warrior shook his head, as he called for his nightsaber. "We must keep going. Until we get out of this hostile area, we are in danger." He took a dagger from his boot to slice the straps binding her legs. As he gripped her ankle, he noticed how delicate her legs were, and how tiny her feet were. His hand even wrapped around her entire ankle so that his fingers touched. With a swift movement, he cut the leather binding her ankles and hoisted her onto the mount. She drooped forward onto the nightsaber's head, as the animal grunted in confusion.

"Easy boy," the warrior calmed the beast, biting back a smile, as he mounted up. With one arm he held the reins, and with the other he held the girl up. "Move out," he commanded, "double time." He added, wrapping a strong arm tighter around the girl's small middle. As they ran out, he found himself cradling her head within his breast, to keep from painful bouncing. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't fight the feeling. He glanced down, as he finally got a good look at her face. Even with a glance, he saw that Darrick was telling the truth, she was pretty. He shook his head as he focused strait ahead on leading the party. It didn't matter if she was attractive or not, he would get his revenge. He needed to stay focused.

In the back of the party, riding between Sarah and Thorin, the rogue female sensed a twinge in her chest as she watched her party leader carrying the girl. She heard Darrick say that she was pretty, but it never phased her until she saw Galen checking over the paladin's observation. She bit her lip and prayed this mission would end soon, so they could return to Darnassass.

.

The ride through Eastern Plaguelands was difficult, dodging the scourge's hot spots. The ride through Western Plaguelands was a breeze, as was the journey through Hillsbrad Foothills. They had gotten lucky; avoiding the Horde was not an easy task. The blood elf in his arms had started to wake up, when he gave her another cuff to the head to keep her knocked out. He felt a little guilty, but he had to remind himself how powerful she really was, and he was in no mood to battle a frost mage.

As the sun began to touch the tips of the mountains, Galen let out a heavy breath. They just made it into Southshore, the sounds of the ocean echoed throughout the town, as the party trudged through the town to the nearest inn. He was looking forward to getting some rest, the journey had been passive, but it was still very long. They all dismounted and left their mounts at the stables, Galen scooped one arm underneath the girl's knees and another cradled her back. She was completely limp, and still out cold from his last cuff. He looked down at her, and saw her chest rising and falling to his relief. _She's worth nothing dead._ He told himself, and he needed her very much alive for his vengeance.

"Will they let her in?" Darrick asked as the group walked up to the inn.

"Why not?" Galen shrugged, with her still in his arms.

"Well, let's see. There has to be against tons of laws," Sarah pointed out.

"If she's with me, and I can keep her under control, what's the problem?" The two humans looked uneasy, as they entered through the doorway. Immediately, he was met with stares from the bar. Patrons glared as they observed what the male night elf was carrying.

"Told ya so," Sarah leaned in and whispered to him.

"Hey!" An angry male voice called from the bar. "Get her outta here! We don't serve her kind here." The human ordered them all out, as Sarah sighed.

"Come on, let's go set up camp nearby. I'm sure they'll all sell to us as long as we don't have her." The warlock surmised, as the party went to their stables to get their camp gear out of their mount's bags.

"We coulda jus' let 'er be in th' stables," Gorrim mumbled in aggravation. Darrick snorted.

"What so she could escape?" The paladin argued.

"Y'got a problem, son?" Gorrim growled, as he reached for his weapon.

"Enough!" The commanding voice of the warrior shook the entire barn. "Just get your things. I don't have time, or the patience for this."

The human and dwarf turned away from each other, obeying Galen's orders, knowing not to defy them. As they all finished gathering what they needed, they walked across the path next to the inn, and set up a camp. Each had their own tent, as the mage was lain in the grass, to keep close watch on her. They all gathered around the campfire that Keina built, passing around bread as the heavy armor wearers started removing their battle gear.

"Please tell me you have real food," Darrick groaned, as he stared hungrily at Sarah's backpack.

"Maybe," she shrugged, a smile forming on her face.

"Oi, Galen, that wench is still alive?" Thorin asked, as he fed his panther.

"She lives," the night elf shrugged as he popped a piece of bread in his mouth. Galen felt so much better without all that plate gear he had been baking in all day. The feeling the intense weight off of his shoulders. Just his body soaking in the cool air instantly brought him into a better mood. It made him remember Teldrassil, and his sisters. His thoughts were interrupted when Gorrim was discovered to be hiding a few flasks, and his friends pressured him to share. Finally, after great persuasion on Sarah's part, he passed a couple around. They laughed and shared stories of conquests and then bedroom conquests.

"I've got a lass waitin' in Ironforge fer me, I can't wait t'get home," a devilish smile crept on Thorin's heavily bearded face.

"Lies!" Sarah cried, "You couldn't romance a woman if you showered or combed your hair! Much less get rid of that smell coming from your clothes."

"Watch it, lass," Thorin grinned.

"Speaking of womanizers," Darrick smiled, "I have heard a lot of rumors in Stormwind with the tavern wenches."

"Of what?" Sarah's eyebrow raised in interest.

"Our leader," the paladin glanced back at the warrior, who shrugged and smiled.

"Oh my." Sarah giggled, "I heard those too! Gods spare me, when I came on this mission I feared my innocence was in jeopardy because of those rumors. Those barmaids gave me quite a few stories that would make even Thorin's hair curl."

"Lass, yer maidenhead wasn't in danger. Y'don't even have one t'give!" Thorin roared in laughter at her comment.

"Laugh it up, dwarf," the warlock's eyes narrowed playfully, as her gaze drifted to the warrior, who swigged more from the flask and passed it around. The warrior hadn't said anything about the conversation topic, but he remained in good spirits, laughing at the jest. Sarah looked Keina's way, to see her curling her legs up to her chest with a blank expression. The warlock's face softened, as her heart went out to the rouge. She had seen the looks that she gave him when his back was turned. They had all been grouped together for a long time now, perhaps she grew fond of the warrior. She shrugged it off, it wasn't any of her business anyway.

.

_What in Sunwell is that dreadful noise?_ Marcail thought, as she felt her head pounding. There was drunken laughter, and it sounded like it was coming from below her window. _Damn, I must've slept with the window open again. I should probably close it, and shoo the drunks away._ She thought. Her eyes fluttered open, as she blinked in disbelief. This wasn't her parent's home. All she saw was trees and a few tents. The laughter continued as voices spoke in Common behind her. Suddenly, she remembered that morning. She fought with a powerful warrior, until he cornered her, and that was the last thing she remembered. _Dear Light, I must still be with them! _She panicked as she tried not to make any moves of being awake. Her back was turned from them, perhaps she could pop up and run as fast as she could to lose them. It was worth trying anyway. As she moved her hands, slowly, she found that they were tied in leather. She couldn't hide the smug grin that stretched over her mouth. _Idiots, thinking this would bind a mage._ She used a fire spell to disintegrate the leather from her wrists without burning herself. She heard the laughter start up again, and knew this was her chance!

Marcail hopped to her feet, as pain shot through her head. She refused to give up, as she gave a glance behind her, they saw her, as they tried to stand up. She smirked as she observed they were drunk as a dwarf fell over and the humans were unsteady rising to their feet. With a frost nova, and a blink, she was already out of the light range of the campfire, and felt herself beginning to fade into the shadows of the night. She sucked in her breath, telling herself not to look back, until she felt resistance from her next step in her run. Immediately she knew she was in trouble, as her legs bound together as she tripped over the train of her dress and skidded on the hard ground. She tried to pick herself up to blink again, when a hand grabbed the back of her dress and jerked her back to the direction of camp. She struggled, but as she saw the warlock coming to her, the human female put a curse on her to keep her from casting another spell.

"Holy Light, that was close," the paladin said, as he caught up with them

"That curse won't last forever," Keina, who had been very quiet, finally spoke up. The warlock shifted her weight as the warrior kept a good grip on the back of Marcail's dress.

"So what are we to do?" Darrick asked.

"I can knock her out," Keina volunteered, "I'm sure I can make sure it won't wear off in time until we get to Ironforge."

"No," Galen argued, as the rogue's nose twitched. "She's worth nothing to us if she's in horrible condition."

"That's f'the healers t'worry 'bout," said Thorin, his hands already balling into fists. He still was bitter about the pain she had caused his brother.

"All of you, we are not going to harm her anymore," he feared that those words were going to bite him in the future, as the blood elf still struggled from him, but he held her wrists tight. But there was no competition over who was stronger. The night elf stood at about seven feet tall, so her size was shadowed by his massive height.

"I know something." Sarah spoke up, "Although, I'm not sure on how to reverse it, but I'm sure once we're back in Ironforge we can find something..." Sarah trailed off. "But it will keep her bound to me. It will take away all of her magic for now. I mean she's just a mage, without her magic, she's powerless against us."

"Isn't that forbidden, even for dark magic?" Darrick asked.

"Well, do you have any other suggestions, Darrick?" Galen demanded, as he kept a tight grip on the squirming blood elf. "We better make a decision fast, I think that silencing spell is wearing off." The air around them started growing chilly, indicating she was almost at full power and ready to unleash it, underneath the silencing curse.

"I'm doing it," Sarah put a hand up to Darrick who was taken aback. The warlock stepped forward, and started to place her hand on the mage's forehead, when the warlock suddenly shrieked in pain and pulled her hand back, as if she had touched hot coals.

"What? What happened?" Galen demanded, as he looked down at the squirming girl he was restraining. Her fel green eyes flashed in anger.

"That little bitch. She arcane torrented me! She took some of my magic!" Sarah looked up to the mage, with new hatred in her eyes.

"Selama ashal'anore!" Marcail hissed, as she spat at the feet of the warlock. The warlock who was already enraged, grew into a fury of dark magic, as she thrust her palm on the mage's forehead, gripping her hair painfully. The blood elf cried out, as she tried to fight back. As Sarah started casting the spell, she saw the utter fear in the mage's eyes, as if she already knew what Sarah was doing. The mage tried to fight back, but the human yanked her own necklace off, breaking the clasp, held it to her face and chanted the dark words.

Shadow apparitions danced around the two women, as a tunnel of dark magic swelled around them. Sarah swayed as she chanted, as Derrick moved to steady the human. Galen clutched both of the arms of the blood elf, keeping her still. However, a different feeling in the air gripped him, as he was almost paralyzed. Then, he felt a shudder of magic wreck through him. With the last word, the dark magic exploded, sending black mist out from them. Everything faded, as Sarah panted, and stepped back.

The damage from the intense wind had broken a few tree branches and scattered supplies over camp. Galen felt the mage go limp in his grasp, as she whispered words in Thalassian.

"Forgive me," she whimpered, as the warrior's eyebrows narrowed in confusion. _Who is she asking for forgiveness from?_ It was clear very soon, as once again, the warlock's pained shriek echoed throughout the mountains. The warrior looked up to see Sarah dropping the necklace, which now glowed as if it were just taken out of a forge. Sarah looked over to see the necklace had returned to it's normal state in the grass. The warlock reached for it, but with her presence, it glowed again in a red hot splendor. Sarah's gaze jerked up to the mage.

"What did you _do_." Her last word emphasized with anger. As the weak blood elf raised her head slowly, she gave a little grin at the warlock. Sarah lunged forward, as Darrick grabbed for the warlock to stop her. The warrior had to catch Marcail's small waist to stop her from collapsing to the ground.

"No one will ever touch that necklace again," murmured the blood elf, as her eyes fluttered as her world spun. Yet, she kept her grip on the world around her. She grew very aware of the warrior clutching her waist. She felt a twinge of anxiety through her veins, as he held her there. She tried to wretch free from him, but he wasn't letting go.

"Let me go!" She said in Thalassian, as she made more of an effort to pull herself away from the night elf. She looked up at him with such a vengeance, as if she were planning his demise. He gave her a glare that matched hers, as he dropped her. She fell to the ground, and she turned her head to him as she tried to cast a spell, but it fizzled in a cloud of moisture. She tried again, but her magic was gone. The mage dug her fingers into the soil, as she debated throwing dirt at them to get away.

"It's pointless, Marcail," Galen said to her, in Thalassian. A wave of shock splashed on her face, as her jaw dropped a little. "Your magic is bound in that necklace."

"Galen," Sarah looked at him with a quizzical look. "You can speak her language?" The night elf nodded. "Then ask her what in holy Arthas' ass she did to my spell!" His gaze drifted back to the blood elf who was still on the ground, still braced for someone to attack her. Her expression was a mixture of anger and fear, but she tried to hide the fear.

"She," the warrior pointed to Sarah, "wants to know what you did to her spell." The girl's face twisted into a smug smile.

"I gave it my own personal touch," she boasted. "I should be the only one who can even come close to it." Galen translated to Sarah, as the warlock had to restrain herself from launching herself again at the blood elf.

"Why are you so angry?" Marcail's nose wrinkled in disgust, "She was casting an illegal spell. She could have killed me with it!" The blood elf swallowed nervously. That might have been the intention.

"Let's get one thing strait," Galen knelt down to her level, as she tried to scoot backward away from him. "We are _enemies_, and you are a prisoner. If we wish to cast an 'illegal spell' on you, so be it. I can think of worse things the Horde has put the Alliance prisoners through." He was referring to the experiments the undead performed deep in Undercity. The whole Alliance knew the disgusting practices they engaged in.

"Then what are you waiting for?" She demanded, sticking her chin out in defiance. "Go on. Kill me." Galen hesitated for his answer. The mage gave a mean smile. "See? You want me for something. Or else you would have killed me right in Silvermoon." The night elf cursed.

"I swear to Elune, Marcail," he growled, "if you try and hurt one of my friends, I'll make you will wish you were dead. If you try to run, you will be punished." The blood elf tried to hide her shudder of fear, but the warrior picked up on it right away. The mage wanted to ask how he knew her first name, since he had said it twice now, but knew better than to try and ask. She wouldn't get the truth.

"Well, this is just fantastic," Darrick said, dripping with sarcasm. "What are we going to do now?"

"Can we leave it behind?" Keina asked.

"Aren't blood elves addicted to arcane magic? Without her magic, she could die." Sarah pointed out. "This is why I did the spell in the first place," she grumbled.

"Sarah," Galen's accusatory gaze fell on the human, as his voice resembled a clap of thunder. "Did you know the risks of the spell you just performed? She," he jerked his head Marcail's way, "said that it could have killed her!" The warlock flushed, as she stammered for an explanation.

"Really, Sarah?" Darrick sighed.

"But I didn't kill her!" The warlock pointed out. The warrior marched up to her, and towered over her with his height.

"You could have destroyed _everything_." He growled, as the warlock gripped her sleeves and pursed her lips. "If you pull anything like that again, you won't get your cut." He whipped around from her, and looked down at the blood elf, who hadn't moved at all.

"How're we gonna fix this?" Gorrim asked.

"I don't know," the warrior gritted, as he crouched down to look at the necklace in the grass. He hovered his hand over it, and it didn't react to him. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Glancing over at Marcail, he observed a worried look as she stared at the necklace. He moved his hand closer to the necklace, and it still didn't react.

"I wouldn't touch it," Darrick warned. But the warrior was curious now, as with one motion, he gripped the pendant of the necklace. It still didn't react. It didn't glow and burn him. He picked it up and rose. He looked the blood elf's way to see her gawking. Clearly, this wasn't part of her plan.

"By the Light, Galen," Keina came forward and tried to touch it. It surged with a red hot glow as she jerked her hand back. "Didn't that hurt you?" She asked in dismay, as he still held the necklace in his hands.

"No," he sounded just as surprised. His eyes locked on the mage, who quickly snapped her mouth shut from her gawking. "What kind of magic is this?" He demanded of her. The blood elf shook her head. "Is this some kind of joke? You think this is funny?" He went to her as he thrust the necklace in her face and dropped to her level. The blood elf didn't look at him. He grabbed her jaw, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Answer me!" He ordered.

"I don't know," she hissed through gritted teeth. He released her with a flick of his wrist, causing her head to whip around to the side. She put a thumb to her jaw muscle to massage it. _What an uncivilized brute. He certainly lives up to the night elf reputation._ She thought angrily.

"What'd t'lass say?" Thorin asked.

"She said she didn't know what happened," he fingered the pendant, a giant teardrop emerald set in saronite. Sarah snorted.

"As if she would tell the truth." She rolled her eyes. Galen shot her a warning look.

"Let's all just get to sleep. If you want to go into town, go. But we will all be waking up at dawn." He told everyone, as they nodded in clarity of his order. The humans went to their own tents, while the dwarves went strait to the tavern. Keina stayed behind, as she looked at the warrior with a timid look.

"Galen," she began. "You're not angry I came are you?" The warrior sighed.

"No, Keina, I'm not." He rubbed his forehead.

"Really?" Her eyes softened as she smiled.

"You proved yourself useful today," he admitted, as he continued to stare into the forest, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

"Thank you," she grinned. "I told you that you wouldn't be disappointed." The rogue turned on her heel and went to her own tent.

The blood elf still sat in the grass, abandoned. Marcail looked behind her, to the tents and Southshore. Then she looked to find her greatest escape route. The real problem was getting the gem back from the warrior without her magic. She might be able to regenerate some, after all she was a Dawnfire. But would it be enough to take him down without her full power? She struggled with him that morning and he had outsmarted her. He was a force to be reckoned with, and she couldn't afford to underestimate him.

"Stop it." The warrior's voice was harsh and impatient.

"What?" Marcail couldn't understand who he was talking to.

"You're planning your escape," he didn't even turn around from looking deep into the forest. "Stop it."

"You can't read my mind," she snapped. "You don't know anything about me."

"On the contrary," he finally faced her, with a menacing glare, "I know everything about you. I know your name is Marcail Dawnfire, a pureblood mage, descended from Kael'Thas himself. You were born in Silvermoon City, and you have traveled all over Azeroth. You proved yourself a powerful and successful mage in the Argent Crusade, but you were recently returned to Silvermoon and became betrothed to Nellan Lightbringer, an aristocratic paladin." The blood elf felt her fear sink a little deeper after every fact he ticked off.

"How," she narrowed her eyes and clutched the grass, not believing what she was hearing. "Where did you get all this information?" She gritted her teeth in fear. Her eyes locked on to his, as she eyed him uneasily, but his gaze seared into her, unwavering.

"I have my sources," he scoffed.

"Why do you know so much about me? Why did you take me away from my home?" She demanded, but he just raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth in amusement. "Why are you doing this to me? I have done nothing to you!"

"No," he admitted, "not you personally."

"Then release me!" She demanded.

"You really need to work on your manners," he glared at her.

"That's funny. Kidnapping proves you have even less manners," she mumbled back.

_Blood elves_, Galen thought. They really were snooty and judgmental. With that, he walked up to her, and jerked her to her feet, clutching her upper arms in a tight her a death glare, Marcail clamped her lips shut. If she kept digging this hole, the path before her did not look promising.

"Go," he pointed to the campfire, dismissing her as if he had enough. She pursed her lips and dug her fingernails into her palms, and she stood up and turned toward the camp.

Galen rubbed his temples in annoyance. He was a warrior, and he was used to training bad attitudes out of new recruits. He felt that he probably shouldn't put Marcail on the same level of training as his warrior recruits. For one, none of his recruits had such a delicious sway of the hips when they walked. Nor did they feel so small and delicate under his grip. He shook his head, trying to flock his thoughts away from lust, and more to the present problems.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the necklace. It shone nicely in the moonlight, and he thought he saw something moving inside of it. He held it up closer to his eyes, and there was something moving in it! It looked like mana strands in Hellfire Penninsula's skies. The smokey strands flowed slowly inside of it, circling around inside the emerald. He wondered if it had done that before the spell. Looking over at the campfire, he saw Marcail was still staring at him.

"Find a tent buddy," he ordered, "or you're sleeping with the murlocs." She pursed her lips, but couldn't bring herself to do anything else. The warrior's touch was deep and commanding, and she had felt his flexing bisceps and large hands when he grabbed her. She wondered what it would be like, lying underneath those arms, or being pinned against a wall. She bit her lip and shivered.

Marcail looked around at the tents, trying to figure out where her chances of being received were the highest. The warlock and the dwarves hated her, she already knew. The rogue seemed neutral, but something gave her an uneasy feeling about tenting up with her. That only left two people, and the night elf was out of the question. He would probably cuff her if she fell asleep, just for kicks. She peeled back the flap of the paladin's tent and peeked inside.

He murmured words in common in his sleep, with the blankets pulled tight all around his neck. There was plenty of room for her to curl into a ball at the entrance of the tent. She hated humans with a passion, after their sheer arrogance and opinionated ways. At least he didn't smell like the dwarves did, though he still smelled. She slipped inside and sank to the grassy floor. Her dress and corset tugged at her, as she wished to be free from them. Her mother took so much time sewing on the silver beads. Now it was ruined with mud stains on the hem, and how she had bled through the front and back when she was struck with the arrow. She was also tripping over the train of the dress. She longed for something more practical.

She tried to curl in a ball to go to sleep, but it was impossible with the corset. She sniffed back tears. She wished she were back in Dalaran, with the option of going to clean up the scourge. Sweet Sunwell, she would go and get married right then and there to Nellan, if it meant going back to the comforts of home. She tossed and turned, listening to the snoring and mumbling of the human sleeping a mere inches away from her. It felt like forever laying there, like sleep seemed to be forever away. She heard some drunken stumbling and loud dwarven voices yelling at each other happily.

The human gave a loud snort as he turned over in his sleep. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Humans really were gross. She listened to the noises of the dwarves as they settled down in their own tents. When they were finally asleep, she could hear the snoring of both of them from all the way in her shared tent. She covered her ears with her hands, and squeezed her eyes shut, praying for sleep to come.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note<em>

_Welcome back to everyone who followed my stories from my other two! Thank you so much for reading and giving me your reviews! They are the highlights of my internet time. You guys say such wonderful things, and I enjoy the constructive criticism you include in your__ reviews. I am working hard on this one, I've already got the next five chapters written out, but I'm still editing/reviewing them to make sure everything makes sense at the end. :P_

_I'd like to thank Azure Ryukiba for her support and encouragement she always gives me! She pre-read this story, and I was able to alter it to a better fit. I like this version better than the first one I came up with. She also has drawn some fan art of my stories, so be sure to check out her deviantart account if you're interested! She's very talented._

Thanks again everyone! You guys are great :-*


	4. Chapter 4

If only she knew how to sew. She rolled up onto her feet, and pushed the tent's flap open. There, the warrior and the rogue were already ready. Marcail felt anger rising in her blood. _Weren't night elves supposed to like the night? _She picked up her skirts, but not well enough, as she tripped again over the hem. She fell right into the warrior, who was surprisingly agile, as he caught her from falling. Immediately, the warmth of his skin seeped into her arms, sending a shiver through her body. She looked up at him, noting he wasn't in his plate armor yet. She could feel his strong arms flexing as they held her upright. She locked eyes with him for a second, but she was distracted from the teardrop emerald resting on his chest on a small chain. He righted her, and turned his back to her. She sniffed, trying to regain her composure, as she turned away from them to go sit in the grass away from everyone.

Galen watched her starting to fall, and couldn't help but catch her. Yet, he saw when she looked up, her eyes went strait to the gem around his neck. It got under his skin a little bit, and he didn't know why he was so irked by it. He flexed his hands, trying to rid the feeling of her soft touch on his hands and arms. Instead of dwelling on it, he started kicking down the sticks that held all the tents up. His friends all let out groans and yelps as their tents consumed them. They all struggled around in the thick white fabric.

Marcail observed this behavior, as she scoffed. She kept her voice quiet enough so he wouldn't overhear her annoyance. His actions were actually nicer than how the few Blood Knights who slept in were treated. She saw the crossed line scars on some of her paladin friend's backs. She rubbed the areas on her arms he had just touched her with his bare hands. He processed such sheer power in those arms, it was almost incredulous to feel how gentle they could be.

"Why are you just sitting there, Marcail?" A thundering voice demanded. She glanced over her shoulder.

"What would you have me do?" She tried to filter the annoyance out of her voice as best as she could.

"Come help them," he ordered. The mage rolled her eyes and picked up her skirts to help fish out the people stuck in the tents. As she walked past Galen, he gave a small cuff to the side of her head. She spun around, eyes flashing in anger as if to say _'what was that for?'. _She was met with a bored gaze from the warrior.

"Lose the attitude," he stated, and waved her off.

He watched her leave, still carrying those skirts, and she stooped down to help peel back the tent off of Darrick. Since binding her magic, her addiction to arcane magic didn't seem to bother her, yet. Even though it had only been a few hours, she was a blood elf, and she was bred for pure arcane magic. Galen felt there was too much of a temptation of power that came with it, which made him glad he was a warrior. There was a reason why his people shied away from it. Unlike the blood elves, who selfishly used it with the Sunwell to gain massive power. He snorted. What good that did for them. Destroying the Sunwell, succumbing to addiction, and their own leader following Illidan the Betrayer and Lady Vashj.

Thinking away from her race and more on his own matters, he felt pride in that he had Marcail in his captivity. How worried Nellan must be right now. He should be figuring out who led the kidnapping assault soon. Then, Nellan would have to beg to get her back. The paladin was probably now a public spectacle, with word of his failure spreading all over Silvermoon. Perhaps the whole Horde knew of his embarrassment. He couldn't suppress the chuckle that grew in his chest. This girl was his revenge on Nellan. She was of high aristocracy in her culture, so to really shame her, he figured he should put her to work as a housemaid. She was very pretty, he wouldn't mind seeing her working around his house until Nellan came begging to get his little bride back.

"Galen," Darrick growled. "I hate you." The paladin started rolling up his tent when he looked over to see the dwarves were finally untangled from their tents. Marcail was currently trying to coax the warlock out of the tent. Apparently the warlock had just gone right back to sleep.

The warrior marched over to the tent, as he took out his axe, ready to prod the warlock with the hilt to jolt her awake. Upon seeing him come over, Marcail's eyes grew wide and her shaking grew more desperate as she tried to stir the warlock away. Finally, a head of nut brown hair poked out from the tent.

"I'm up! I'm up!" She shouted angrily. The warrior gave a suspicious look to the mage, who simply rose from her crouched position toward the path, nonchalantly. _She was protecting Sarah_? He sheathed his axe, as he stared after the girl.

"Jeez, why did that wench shake me so hard?" Sarah hissed, as she rolled up tent.

"To save you from me waking you up," the warrior said calmly. The warlock stared after the mage in confusion.

.

The party started to mount up, and Marcail stood dumbly as they all sat on their mounts and looked down at her.

"Get on," Darrick said in common, as he extended his arm to her. She wanted to recoil from him, but she didn't wish to anger her captors any further. She accepted his hand as he swung her on the back of his horse, seating her behind him.

"Ugh, not even a moment to clean up," she uttered in Orcish, wishing she could have at least washed her face and cleaned her teeth.

Darrick looked over his shoulder and gave her an inquisitive glance, but dismissed it. To keep from wrapping her arms around his waist, or even touch him at all, she grasped the back of the saddle tightly and locked her elbows. She heard the warrior say something in common, and then the group started to move as a cluster.

As they moved out of Southshore, Marcail inwardly sighed. Barely 24 hours ago, she was at home in Silvermoon, ready to be married. Now, she was being dragged to whoever knows where by a ragtag Alliance caravan. The group was certainly strange, they all seemed to earnestly respect the warrior, even if it wasn't what they wanted to do. Like waking up early, for example.

The warrior still hadn't mention what they wanted from her. They clearly wanted her alive, but for what purpose? The warrior knew so many facts about her, it was disturbing. She was still shaken from his knowledge of her. Perhaps he wanted a ransom from her parents, but then why just take her? There were plenty more aristocratic and worthy people to take from her wedding.

Then, her veins went icy as a thought flashed in her mind. _Is it because of my blood?_ That was the only thing that made her worthy of kidnapping. Her parents were too powerful to capture, and her brother was always very hard to track down. That logic seemed a little shaky, but why else would he want her? He must know her secret. He already knew so much about her. She stared at the night elf warrior suspiciously, her eyes narrowed as she dug her nails into the saddle.

She observed him from behind as he rode in front of the party. He held the reins of his nightsaber in a firm grip, as he sat as strait as a staff, as unmoving as the mountains. His plated armor glinted with the early sun, but he hadn't put on a helm that morning. His loose indigo hair gathered around his back. She frowned, thinking on how strange night elves looked compared to her race. Blood elves didn't have the odd hair or skin pigments the night elves had, and their ears were almost a ridiculous length.

Blood elves were not nearly as tall as he was. Galen had to be a little under seven feet tall. Comparing him to her knowledge of previous night elves, he was of average height in his culture, and he was a little leaner. Lean was strange for a warrior. He still had a much stronger muscle tone than blood elf males, but it was not as bulky as night elf males she had seen. When she had looked into his eyes when he caught her at camp, she thought she saw some emotion reflected in them. Perhaps even directed to her. The gaze made her feel a little sad, but everything vanished once he had righted her.

"Get over yourself, Marcail," she murmured, rolling her eyes at herself. She was probably just wishing it was there. As she looked down at the ground below her, she felt the human shift in his saddle, and she felt eyes on her. Looking up, the human gave her a concerned stare.

"You probably think I'm crazy for talking to myself," she said a half smile tugging at her lips. He returned it, but one of his deep brown eyebrows gently arched. He mumbled something back to her in common and turned back to the road. She felt her anxiety and dislike for the human sink a little. He had yet to make an aggressive action against her. At least over the others in the group, who all had ill intention at some point in the capture. Other than the rogue of course, but she felt that the female night elf wouldn't take too much from a smile, especially from her kind.

She wondered why she was even being decent to these people. She should be fighting the whole way, beaten or not. That's what a true blood elf would do, never give up. Going on the logic that they weren't going to kill her, she could be more resistant. However, the cuffs from the warrior seemed like he was holding back the true power of them, and she didn't want to tempt them any harder. She should still keep a close watch on him, especially observing how brutish he was that morning to his own party.

Marcail peered ahead toward the upcoming wall of Arathi Highlands. _Where in Azeroth are they taking me?_ She wondered. Ironforge was the closest city, and it was highly guarded along with it's strong walls. Not exactly the best place for her to be. She shuddered at the thought of staying in the tombed city, locked away from the warmth of the sun. She also heard that it was located permafrost land, and iron encased the entire city. That did not seem appealing to her at all.

Her thought process was interrupted by the sound of her stomach growling. The human apparently heard it to as he looked over his shoulder at her. He gave a knowing smile as he reached into his pack and pulled out some bread. He handed it to her, and she gave him a smile of gratitude as she took it from him. She nibbled at the darkened crust, testing the flavor.

Surprisingly, it wasn't too bad. She leaned forward for balance as she took both hands from the saddle to rip the crust off and get it in her starving belly. Once she had finished the crust, she popped the soft part in her mouth. Still chewing, she leaned towards the side to see where the warrior was. Surprisingly, he had glanced back at the same time, as they caught each other's gaze. Marcail's eyes grew wide as she quickly hid behind the larger figure of the human.

Galen felt himself smile a bit. The girl was curious about him. He had seen her quickly hide behind Darrick when she knew he was looking at her, and those long honey locks of hair following her head. It was the last part of her that disappeared behind him. She had looked so surprised to find him looking back at her. Part of him expected her to be curious and ask a lot of questions about how he knew her, and what they intended to do with her. Yet, she surprised him by not demanding more answers that morning.

Most of his captives demanded more information in the first few days in his custody. They all usually stopped after the first few days passed, especially if they were isolated. He inwardly sighed, disappointed in his own harshness and brutality. He knew that he had grown desensitized to the war with the Horde, and even war in general. He was a fierce protector, but the Alliance had other plans for his career. Instead of being a protector, he was placed on the offensive fields. In Alterac Valley, a battle constantly fought with the Horde, his orders were meant to charge in. When he expressed discontent with his officers, they always pulled rank and insisted he stick to his duties.

In Wintergrasp, the captured Horde enemies were spread all over Alliance Northrend camps. They would either be locked up, or did the grunt work the Alliance didn't wish to do. He was placed as an overseer, keeping them in line and in broken spirits. He sometimes felt like Elune had abandoned him, and his only path was that of misery and destruction.

He gritted his teeth and shoved those feelings aside. Anger clouded over him as he gripped the reins tighter. Thoughts like this would throw him off of his goal. He had already come so far, he had to see it through.

.

The afternoon sun in Arathi Highlands warmed the group to an uncomfortable temperature. Sarah wiped at her brow as she looked to the sky, and then at her leader. He and Darrick were in full plate armor, they had to be feeling the heat.

"Galen!" She called, but the warrior didn't acknowledge her. She rode her demonic horse up beside him, and spoke his name again. He seemed to wake from a daze in his response.

"What is it?" He asked, not really registering her.

"Galen, I'm baking in all my armor, and I'm in cloth. Everyone else must be worse," she explained. When the warrior went silent, she tried again.

"Do you think we could stop at the bridge between Wetlands and Arathi? We're almost there, we could break for a midday meal."

"Fine," he nodded, still looking ahead at the road. The warlock pulled back into formation, as the mountains ahead of them grew taller.

The mage looked up at the mountains, it had been a long time since she had been to this area. Soon, they would be going into Wetlands, Alliance territory. She had never really stopped in Wetlands, she was never really fond of cloudy and dark weather. The path grew narrower, and a bridge came into view. The caravan marched over the stone bridge, and much to her relief, they all pulled off to the side of the road for a break.

They all began to dismount, and gathered their horses and sabers a nearby tree. Marcail hitched up her skirts and walked along side the paladin, as he untied a pack from his horse and walked to where the group was sitting. They all sat in a sort of circle, as they started chowing down on their provisions they brought. The mage sat down beside the paladin, with the warlock on her other side. Directly across from her, the warrior sat eating his own food.

Marcail fluffed her gown so it wouldn't cling to her legs. She almost never sat in the dirt since she became of age. She usually had beautiful tailored mage robes that she wanted to keep clean, but her gown was now ruined anyway. The corset pinched at her hips, and she shifted her weight back and forth to try and settle. She looked down at the corset, and grew sad upon observing the silver beads again. Her mother and father must be worried sick about her. Would Hayden come home because of this? Would he come looking for her? If Hayden would come for her, would Nellan?

A loaf of bread suddenly appeared before her, as she looked to the owner of the extended hand. The paladin, gave her a nod, as she accepted another loaf of his bread.

"Thank you," she said in Thalassian. Even if he couldn't understand what she was saying, it was still polite to say it. He seemed to understand, as he smiled at her. She nudged him to get his attention, and she pointed a finger to herself. "Marr-kay-el," she lengthened her words to try and make him understand her name. He nodded and pointed to himself.

"Darrick," he said, with a warming smile. Then he pointed to the rogue, "Keina," looked across the way and pointed, "Galen," and pointed to the twins, "Gorrim and Thorim," and lastly he pointed to the warlock. "Sarah," he said, looking back at her. Marcail nodded and gave him a small smile as her eyes wandered to the male night elf. So the warrior's name was Galen. He had never told her his name when he was barking orders at her the previous night. It seemed the paladin was the only one willing to talk to her, and he didn't even speak her language.

She bit down on his bread he graciously gave to her. She felt a little guilty, but then she realized they must have brought enough food to share with her, considering they were doing the kidnapping and were going to have to travel with her. Not to mention she really didn't have much time to gather her things on the way out, after the warrior had knocked her unconscious. She giggled a little.

"What's so funny?" A male voice in Thalassian demanded. She looked up to see the warrior, his expression dark, but his eyes expressed interest. She wondered if he was searching to pick a fight with her. Carefully, and with a hint of fear, she raised an eyebrow and said,

"I was thinking I would be better equipped to travel, had I been allowed upstairs to gather my things." The warrior didn't smile, but nor did he seem upset by her sarcastic comment. She decided to test the grounds a little more. "Where are you taking me?" She asked.

"Don't worry about it, you'll find out when we get there." He answered.

She glowered at him. He wasn't going to tell her anything. She tried shrugging him off as she looked to her lap and ate her bread in silence. His evasive answers were just so annoying, but getting angry wasn't going to solve the problem. If she stopped asking, she might keep from becoming upset. But, if they were headed into Dun Morogh, she would most likely freeze to death, they had to know that much.

She shuddered with the thought of the ice and snow in Northrend. She had to buy lots of blankets to keep herself warm. Even her cloth armor was lined with fur. As a frost mage, she knew how to keep warm with her clothes. In her wedding gown, she wouldn't last very long.

As soon as the mid-day rest began, it was over and the party packed up their things and started to mount up. Marcail felt a tugging sensation in the back of her mind as she thought of the last chance she had to meditate. Right before the wedding, she was able to squeeze a few moments in. Since then, she had been too worried with her captors to take her eyes off of them. And that warrior might want her to be in misery for the extent of their travels. She followed the paladin, as he helped her up to his horse. She might be able to get some moments of meditation in while riding.

She sat behind the paladin and tried to close her eyes. Breathing in deeply, she imagined herself in beautiful Nagrand, among the waterfalls and bright green grass. She focused on creating the waterfall in her mind, the crystal waters cascading down into the clear blue ponds. The sound of the wind, gently bristling through the tall trees, and the sound of the gentle clefthoof baying in the distance. She inhaled deeply again as she focused inward.

Reaching deep down into her soul, she tried to find a source of arcane magic. Searching in the dark, she looked thoroughly. If she could find a sliver of magic, she could last for days. Finally, in the darkness she found what she was looking for, a green mana fissure drifted lazily deep within herself. She grasped it, and pulled it up into her mind, giving her the small arcane fix she needed.

Her unorthodox way of handling her magical addiction surprised most other blood elves, for they could never handle such a thing. In a way, she mana tapped herself, refusing to feed off of innocent people and drinking demon blood. She had her meditation down to an artistic practice. She could meditate for days on end if she needed to. Her parents also practiced this meditation, and they were the ones who taught it to her.

The magical meditation was funny though, ironically. Even though she tried her best every day to keep her addiction under control, she still had the nagging sensation to drain the magic from creatures, and even people.

When her parents first started teaching her the meditation practice, they started weening her off of the mana wyrms. However, she fell into a catatonic-like state for a few days, with spiking fevers and coming in and out of consciousness. She remembered having a nightmare, when someone took control of her body and she watched as she freed herself from her room, scouring the city in search of magic. In her arcane thirst, she killed a few commoners and almost killed her father when he tried to stop her.

The the next thing she remembered was waking up in her room, her mother crying at her bed. She tried, tearfully, to tell them of the nightmare she had, of the voice that spoke to her and took control. Her parents both went pale and insisted on her meditating to control the addiction. Then, she grew a new emotion. Strength. She fought tooth and nail everyday since then to further mana tapping her own blood.

Strangely, something interrupted her. She felt someone tugging at her, as if they were trying to tear her from her internal peace. She tried to fight it, but without access to her true powers, she was useless to fight it. She slowly became aware of the world around her. She was laying in something cold and wet, as splashes of water trickled on her face. She felt as if she were laying against something hard and equally cold as everything around her.

"Mmpgh," she murmured, trying to communicate.

"Dear Light," Darrick held the mage in his arms. He felt her fall off his horse when they were riding through the swamps. He called out to stop the party, as he quickly dismounted. When he reached to her, she wasn't breathing, she hadn't even registered falling. Galen was the first person by his side, digging for a potion in his pack to try and stir her awake. Gorrim dismounted and knelt by her side, observing for himself.

"Och, t'lass looks t'be dead," he finally answered, standing.

"She's breathing," Galen answered, as he removed a small red vial from his bag. "Let me see her," he told Darrick.

The warrior walked to the other side of the blood elf, and while Darrick held her up, Galen jammed a thumb into her jaw to he force open her mouth. He removed the cork with his teeth and gently tipped the vial. He let the red liquid slowly spill on her tongue, and it trickled down her throat. Suddenly, she started coughing, and she struggled to sit up.

Marcail's vision slowly returned to her, as gray moving figures soon became figures of the Alliance party that had captured her the day before. A face leaned over closer, it seemed she was being held by someone. Her eyes adjusted to the proximity, as she made out features. Furrowed deep indigo brows, a clean shaven jaw with strong, full lips. Everything about the face said male, masculine, and strong. Her eyes focused on his lips, fascinated, almost in a trance as she nibbled the corner of her mouth. For a second, she almost reached out to touch them.

"Marcail," the lips moved, a voice she recognized spoke to her.

The world now started coming back into focus. Reality started to sink it's strong talons into her flesh, as she suddenly looked around to see everyone gathered around her. Rain was falling down on them all, and they were all wearing long cloaks to ward off the moisture. She looked back to the warrior, whose hood was currently pulled back to get a better look at her. A few locks of his damp navy hair drifted in his face as droplets fell ran down his locks. He looked concerned, but also his authoritative affect surrounded her. They sat there for a moment, eyes locked on one another, as Galen kept her upright. Until they remembered they were not alone when Keina cleared her throat.

She started to sit up on her own, when she felt the pain in her shoulder and hip. She gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain. She should have known she would fall off, but she was so desperate to meditate.

"You fainted," Galen explained.

"No," she shook her head gently, "I was meditating. I just slipped."

She bit back a shiver, partially from being cold and the other part being touched by the warrior. She started to stand up, and as she shifted her weight, she discovered she had landed in a mud puddle of the swamp. She cursed as the heavy substance weighed down her dress. The gown clung to her, as she felt mud and cold water running down her back and legs.

They started to mount up, except for Galen and Darrick. She heard them speaking in hushed tones next to her. She turned around to look at them to judge their expressions. Judging by Galen's stance, he was miffed by something, and the paladin was trying to defend himself.

"How could you not notice her slipping?" The warrior demanded, quietly to not let the others hear.

"I don't know! I didn't even know she was sleeping," he explained. "She didn't even wake up when she hit the ground, and when I went to her, she wasn't breathing. It was strange."

"She said she was meditating." The corner of the warrior's mouth twitched as he looked over at Marcail, completely soaked from head to toe, covered in mud and old blood from the day before. He had felt her shiver in his arms just a moment ago. The remembrance of that feeling gave a deep squeeze in his chest. She had looked up at him with a stare like she was so captivated in his embrace. Like she was confused, but also interested in him.

She also felt chilled to the touch. He wished they had thought to bring extra clothes, especially since the dress had become sheer, and clinging to a very nice pair of long legs. It was difficult not to grab her and push her skirts up, to feel her thighs right then and there. Horde or not.

"We can't take her into Dun Morogh like this," Darrick pointed out.

"It's the same distance from here to Menethil Harbor than it is from here to Ironforge. The longer we stay out in the wilderness, the greater our chances of getting caught. She is a Dawnfire. Her family is probably already out searching for us." Galen knew capturing the blood elf would be the easy part, and traveling with her would be more difficult. "We can wrap her in some blankets to ward off the cold, but we must push forward."

With that, he started toward his mount and fished out a large fur blanket from his pack. He turned to Marcail and fixed his eyes on her. She looked completely miserable, with water dripping down her face and her soaked hair. Her deep rose colored lips were misted with the rain, and her delicate, upturned nose had turned pink in the chill. She glanced at him in slight fear and curiosity as to what he was going to her, but turned away. He walked up to her, their eyes catching once more. The warrior's gaze fierce and protective, while the mage stared back, soft and unsure. He draped the black fur blanket over her shoulders. She wanted to refuse, but once the heat started trapping under it and surrounding her body, she wrapped it tighter around herself.

"Are we going to stop for the night?" Marcail asked as he led her to his mount.

"No," he replied, gesturing for her to get on his saber. "Get on," he ordered.

She gave him an uneasy stare, as she took a step back from him. The paladin recognized this as he rode his horse up beside them, extending an arm to help her get on. Marcail glanced between the two, before she accepted Darrick's hand. Galen shrugged it off as he mounted up. He wasn't going to turn this into an argument in front of his expedition, even if he was a little irked by her preference to Darrick. He turned his saber toward the south exit, and called for everyone to move out.


	5. Chapter 5

The ride through the tunnels seemed tolerable to Marcail. Large braziers lit the path through the stone tunnels, and it actually kept the tunnels warm. She had never been in these tunnels to Dun Morogh, before. She discovered that they were quite majestic. How much time and power must have been required to make such wonders. After about the fourth tunnel, it elevated at an angle slightly, and the braziers no longer gave off superior warmth that would fight the chill that crept up her feet. She was still in the wet and mud-caked slippers. Her legs were exposed to the elements, as her still damp dress sucked the frosty air of the tunnel. She pulled the fur blanket Galen gave her up over her head and gripped it tight.

Then, she saw the white wilderness at the end of the tunnel over Darrick's shoulder. Looking up further to the sky, she saw it was already dusk. How much longer would it be until they reached Ironforge? The party came thundering by the highlander dwarves who guarded the entrance to Dun Morogh. She glanced back at them, who were all gathered around a campfire. She wished she were there for a split second, but then remembered who she was.

The frosty air shot daggers into her tiny feet. She could feel the freezing temperature biting at her face. Looking over to see if anyone else was bothered by the cold, she saw everyone was still wearing their cloaks, almost unfazed by the temperature drop. She closed her eyes and imagined warmth. Warmth from the fireplace in her regular room in Dalaran to ward off the chill of Northrend. She tried to imagine hot teas, soups and stews, or the scalding heat from a hot bath. Anything else but the pain of the arctic freeze.

True she was a frost mage, but her attacks never chilled her as much as it did her targets. She also would have her fur-laced armor on. Not a tattered, sheer and soaking dress she had on at the moment. A violent shiver wrecked throughout her body, as she flexed her muscles to try and get warm. The constant, gentle shivering picked up, as her teeth chattered. She dug her nails into the fur and started to sit a little closer to the paladin. Only to stabilize herself, because his plate had turned frigid and was not very pleasant to the touch. Moving a leg, she discovered that parts of the dress was beginning to freeze to her skin.

As they passed more snow covered hills and capped pine trees, her shivering became more violent. She had felt jittery when they first entered Dun Morogh, but now she began to feel lethargic, as if she were falling asleep. Looking at her hands, she saw she could barely keep them still. Darrick kept glancing back at her more often. At first she had given him nods and eye contact to assure him she was fine, but now she just huddled against the plate, feeling drained of energy. It felt as if her limbs and joints weren't there, for they didn't listen to her commands.

The ride just seemed to go on forever, and time seemed to crawl. She felt heavy. Her eyes felt heavy, holding her body up felt heavy, even blinking felt like a chore. She felt herself slipping in the saddle and was now too exhausted to stop it.

This time, Darrick noticed her slipping and tried to catch her, but once again she came falling, down into the snow. Marcail couldn't even try and pick herself up as she stared into the snowbank she fell in, snow coating her hands and face. She heard voices, but couldn't hear anything other than incoherent mumbling. The only thing she could hear loudly was her slow and catatonic-like heartbeat.

She felt hands on her as they turned her over on her back. Then, she felt someone lifting her from the snow. She didn't even bother to lift her head to see who it was or fight back. She could only let her head dangle as she stared to the sky, now a complete black blanket, with speckles of stars scattered all over the night's canvas.

"By Elune, her lips are a complete blue!" Shock swept over Galen as he looked at her face. She didn't even look at him, she stared strait into the sky. "We have to get her inside," he determined, as the howl of the wind swept his cloak around his strong, plated body.

"Look, her feet are blue, too," Keina pointed out in awe. Galen looked over, and sure enough, her slippers had fallen off and her small feet were changing color. Her entire body color had turned gray. Her damp hair had frozen from being exposed to the elements too long. Even her eyelashes had ice crystals glittering over her cheeks.

"How much further to Ironforge?" Galen asked the twins as he mounted up, still carrying Marcail in his arms, bridal-style.

"Canna be too far from 'ere," Gorrim judged, scanning the landscape.

"Keep moving!" The warrior called out, as he kicked his heels to urge his mount to run at full speed.

The party behind him even had trouble keeping up with him. Keina took notice to this, and she had seen the fear wash over his face as he noticed how dire the situation really was. She bit her lip and held on tighter to her frostsaber.

.

Entering the gates of Ironforge in a hurry, Galen quickly dismounted his nightsaber and rushed into the closest inn. He didn't even have time to explain as the innkeeper shot him an apprehensive stare. Only when the warrior started the intense threatening and bellowing to give him a room, did the innkeeper do as he asked. His friends tried to follow him, but he immediately shrugged them off, telling them to find a healer, and fast.

Once deep underground in his room of stone, Galen brought Marcail's freezing body to warm near the blazing fire. Her eyes fluttered as she kept drifting in and out of consciousness. She was so small, so fragile. He should have known better than to push her this hard. He laid her body down on the animal fur rug, so he could go get more blankets to cover her with. With his back turned, Marcail lazily rose into a seated position.

He turned to face her, blankets in hand, and her staring at the wall in a blank daze. Slowly, she started shrugging the fur blanket from her shoulders. She almost looked drunk with the haze in her eyes. Then, she reached around to her back and started untying the ribbon from her corset. The warrior blinked, unsure of what she was doing. When she started wiggling out of her dress*, in an instant he fell to his knees at her side, trying to keep her from whatever she was trying to do.

"Marcail, no, don't do that," he felt like he was scolding a child, as she fought him.

"Mmph, 'lemme 'lone," she murmured, as she forced one of her arms out of the sleeves.

She kept squirming, trying to shed the damp material from her body, and he kept trying to keep her clothes on. She finally got another arm free, though she elbowed Galen in the jaw and he grunted.

"Marcail! Stop!" He ordered.

At this point he stopped fighting her with the dress and just tried to cover her frigid body with the fur blankets he brought to her. He wrapped his arms around her chest in a bear hug to keep her from pulling the blankets down any further. Part of him was mentally kicking himself for all of this. If she wanted to undress in his presence, he shouldn't be stopping her. He would actually enjoy seeing her disrobe.

Another part of him knew that it wasn't right to just let her strip. He hissed in common as she wiggled against him, those luscious hips grinding into his loins. He partially cursed himself for keeping his plate on, but also thanked Elune he couldn't feel her softness nestling there. Mostly, he felt his loins cry out in demanding and an unrelenting force, as he held her against him. He kept on with this internal war with himself, as she still tried to fight him and his arms holding the blankets up. A knock on the door made him freeze where he was and he felt his heart stop.

The door opened anyway, and two figures stood at the doorway. Galen was already on his feet, near the door to meet her when he met the dwarven priestess that came to his aid. She was short and had a larger-than-life smile on her face, with her long flaming red hair braided behind her.

"Ya called fer me?" She smiled at the warrior, and he heard a gasp behind the dwarf.

Looking further, he saw Keina, wide eyes and blushing furiously, staring at something behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, but he had to do a double take at the image he saw. Marcail had shed her dress and blankets and was sitting in all her naked glory before the fire.

Galen couldn't stop his gaze from raking across her bare, slender back. Her chest rose and fell, and small pink nipples had gone hard in the cold. Firelight and shadows danced over her creamy skin. For a moment, it seemed like time had stopped, and his chest tightened and he felt like he had swallowed his own heart. She was gorgeous.

"Och, t' lassie 'as a case o' the cold crazies," the priest observed knowingly, as she went to the blood elf and wrapped her with the blankets that had fallen to her waist.

Galen glanced back at the door, but the female rogue was gone. He shut the door, and went back to help the priest who was fighting with Marcail to keep the blankets on.

"Easy, lass, I'm noe going t' hurt ye," she said gently, as she kept pushing the small hands of the blood elf away.

"What is she doing?" Galen asked, slightly shaken.

"Take thae gloves off, laddie," the priest ordered, "ef yer gonna help."

He hesitated at first, but when he saw that Marcail wasn't giving up and started howling a variety of Thalassian curses, he decided his help was needed. She started thrashing, trying to get the two off of her, and finally Galen outmatched her enough that he rolled her up in the blankets, trapping her arms and making it impossible for her to squirm. The priest touched her forehead and started chanting some words. Finally, the blood elf seemed to calm down and her eyes fluttered closed as she went limp.

"What in hellfire was that?" Galen grunted, breathing out a deep sigh to gain control over his body, still pulsing with primal lust.

"Lassie's mind was taken." She explained, as she opened her palms over the mage's body. "Puir sowels who canna take t' cold, they canna help themselves. Thay go a bit daft."

"You're saying the cold did this to her?"

"Aye. I put 'er t' sleep. Lassie might not remember on t' morrow. I do, 'owever, think ye should clothe her better afore she goes in th' snow again. She coulda died." The priest gave him a skeptical look as the night elf walked over to the bed to sit down. Galen closed his eyes and sighed.

"Thank you for coming," he replied, as she nodded in acceptance and walked to the door.

"Mind that one. Lass is steel gonna be a bit of a 'andful ef she wakes up. I'll be back t' check on 'er in the morn." Then the flame haired dwarf left the room, closing the door behind her.

.

Galen stared pensively at the sleeping blood elf's figure wrapped in blankets of fur and cloth beside the fire. He rubbed his face with his hands, sighing deeply. He could hardly believe himself, how he gave the orders to keep going on to Dun Morogh. The girl was soaking wet, in tattered clothes and unfit to travel. He should have stopped at Menethril Harbor, allowed her to dry and gotten her something more practical to wear. Instead, he pushed her to her limit, and almost killed her.

He knew that he shouldn't feel bad about a Horde casualty, he killed many like her before. But this time, he was supposed to be protecting her, keeping her alive until he got what he wanted. He was a stern leader, but that was with his soldiers, those who followed him. Marcail wasn't a part of that life, clearly. He felt a pang of guilt, for treating her so poorly. Even with his attitude, she hadn't struggled and fought the way hostages usually did. She did counterspell Sarah, but she was only trying to defend herself, and he couldn't hold that against her. Marcail apparently knew the dangerous spell, and the risks.

Finally, he rose from his seat at the bed and knelt down to the girl. Her breathing was deep and slow, and her nose and ears were pink with the warmth of the room. He looked closer, letting his eyes roam and take in her beauty with no interruptions. Her mouth was of normal size, with a complimenting pair of full, rosy lips. She had stared at him with such intensity in Wetlands, he wished he could read minds. Her eyes had focused on his lips with such a hunger. _Did she want me to kiss her?_ His eyes grew wide and brows lowered incredulously. He felt his innards twist and flop as he lowered his face to hers.

She was still wrapped up in the blankets, but there was still a nice view of her slender neck and clavicle. Her complexion almost dared him to look farther. He started to reach for her, but then hesitantly pulled his hand back. Then he reached for her again, this time he picked her up and carried her to the bed, where he rested her on the soft feather bed. She stirred a little in her sleep when he released her, but she didn't wake up. He wished she were awake so he could talk to her. _You idiot. What would you say?_ He stood up, ready to leave and go to the tavern. Gorrim and Thorim were bound to be there, and a little ale would be welcome right about now. He snatched up his plated gloves and started to the stairs.

.

"Oi! Thare be t' man o'the hour," Gorrim bellowed happily, as he raised his full mug to his friend entering the tavern. Galen finished the few steps up to join the dwarves at their table.

"I ordered ye a pint," Thorim winked, "maybe two."

"Thanks," Galen nodded his head, but forced out a smile as he sat down with them. He really could use the distraction, and he was not one to turn down free booze. "Anyone else coming tonight?"

"Aye, th' fair lass Sarah said she'd meet us here. So did th' paladin." Gorrim answered, and quickly guzzled down his mug and ordered another.

He let out an obnoxious belch, and guffawed loudly as his brother slapped him on the back and met him with the same amusement. The night elf wanted to cover his forehead in annoyance of the dwarves, but he held it back. These were some of his most trusted companions. Just because he was sexually frustrated and confused, didn't mean he had to take his anger out on them.

"Hey guys," a familiar female voice called from the door. "Don't party too hard without me!" Galen relaxed as Sarah and Darrick made their way through the crowd of dwarves and gnomes to sit by their friends. Sarah immediately plopped herself in a seat next to Galen. She leaned in and lowered her voice.

"How is she doing?" She asked.

"Good, I guess. She started warming up and the healer said she'll be checking in tomorrow. She's asleep, now," he shrugged, accepting his mug from a bar maiden. Sarah stared at him for a few seconds and shook her brunette hair.

"I don't mean the blood elf, I mean Keina." Sarah asked, "She left Ironforge on the tram about an hour ago, and she seemed rather depressed."

"What?" The warrior frowned, "why? Did she tell you why?" The warlock shook her head again.

"She just told me she wanted to get away from this place. Did you see her at any time in between when we entered the gates and when she left?"

"Yeah," he took a drink from his mug, "she was the one who found the healer." The warlock raised an eyebrow.

"Then why would she leave?"

"I have no idea," Galen shrugged. Then, it hit him as if he were standing in front of the oncoming tram. His eyes grew wider, "Wait. She saw Marcail in a state of madness."

"What do you mean?" Sarah tilted her head in confusion. Galen sighed deeply and folded his hands together.

"Marcail started taking her clothes off as soon as I got her inside. It was like she was a completely different person. I had to fight her tooth and nail to keep herself covered up. In the end, when I went to get the door, she had completely disrobed." Galen explained, as the human looked at him doubtfully. "Fine, don't believe me." He turned away from her, when she grabbed his arm.

"That's not it, it's just a very-" Sarah searched for the right word, trying not to piss off her commander, "ambivalent situation." The warrior shrugged it off as he downed more ale.

"Doesn't matter. We've completed phase one of the plan, and now I need to move quickly to get into the next stage."

"It's late though, Galen," the warlock pointed out, "and we should probably-"

"Sarah, stop acting like one of my damned sisters and just drink. For a few hours, I don't want to have a care in the world," his yellow eyes glared with annoyance. He started following his own advice by ordering a round for his comrades, who gleefully cheered him on. The warlock sighed, but reluctantly accepted her mug.

.

The drinking continued until early that morning, when Galen entered the room he left Marcail in, drunkenly stumbling around in the dim light as the fire had died down to embers. He righted a small table that he knocked over, hoping that the sleeping mage didn't hear. Galen picked up some logs and threw them into the fireplace. After a few minutes of playing with the position of the logs, and burning a few fingers, the fireplace was crackling to life again. He crept over to her bedside, and peeled back some of the fur blankets, checking on how she was fairing.

Her soft expression told him she was still asleep, and her exposed creamy shoulder also told him she hadn't gotten up to put clothes on. He snorted, it wasn't like she had anything else to wear. It didn't matter, he'd find her something decent when the shops opened. He got down on a knee and swayed a little bit as he steadied himself. Her breathing was just as soft and calm as it had been when he left. The firelight danced over her features.

She looked so different from females in his race, it was hard to believe their races were cousins. She was much more slender, dainty, and just smaller all around. Even her facial features and ears were different. While most night elven faces and ears were strong and had character, hers were more provocative and radiant. After his eyes devouring her naked body earlier before, he began to understand why blood elves were sold into slavery for sex. The thought brought a feeling of disgust into his chest, and he turned his head away from her. It shamed him to think of that, especially since he had just failed her. She was in his care until he completed his mission, and he couldn't fail her again.

Galen couldn't help but glance back at her sleeping form. Watching her sleep peacefully made his features relax. Her being in a weakened condition played upon his desire to protect, feeding his innermost nature. It was something that he hadn't felt since joining ranks with the war in Altrec Valley. In his inebriated state, he took his glove off, and reached out to her with a large hand. He touched her hair, fanned out on the pillow. It reminded him of human hair colors. These colors were strange to him, since all night elven hair reflected the colors found in the forest in Teldrassil. He didn't think her caramel hair color was found in Eversong Woods.

However, her hair was different from most other human colors. This blood elf possessed hair of a deep gold ore, before it was stripped down to pure metal. He found himself gently weaving his fingers in it's silkiness. Again, he was surprised. Night elven hair was not nearly this fine or as soft. Her hair was like the softness of a rabbit's underbelly.

Marcail stirred in her sleep, turning over to her side, facing him. Galen's veins snapped to ice, as he stood as still as an animal gauging it's safety against a passerby in the woods. She purred a few words as the warrior debated what to do. She breathed in deeply and yawned, but never opened her eyes. She murmured again, the corners of her mouth twitching, but this time he could make out one of the words.

"Galen."

He felt the blood drain from his face. He held his breath, waiting for her to react, probably in anger with him being so close. But she didn't. She never even woke up. It was like she whispered his name in her sleep. He stood up, still unnerved. She was _dreaming_ of him. He stepped back, gently and quietly, until he came up against the door. He reached for the door handle, and quickly opened the door and spun out on the other side of the door before closing it shut. _Elune's blood_, he cursed, running a hand through his deep blue hair.

* * *

><p><em>* = I felt it only necessary to explain the scene in medical terms to my readers, since advanced symptoms of hypothermia are not generally well known. The scene where Marcail removes her clothing is called Paradoxical Undressing, where the victim's blood vessels have given up on trying to keep the body warm and release from exhaustion, causing the victim to feel hot. They will then begin to remove their clothes and other coverings to try and cool down. But, the victim's core temperature is already below average, and thus Paradoxical Undressers succumb even faster to hypothermia. Google it, I think there is even an episode of "<em>1000 Ways To Die_" about it._


	6. Chapter 6

This was the third time Marcail woke up someplace strange in the past 48 hours. The first thing she felt was pulsing, searing pain throughout her body. Moving her limbs made it worse, as if she were pulling joints from their sockets. She cried out, and tried to settle her body into the bed she had been placed in. A tickle formed in her throat, and she gave a racking cough. The cough exacerbated the pain in her body, as she cringed and tried to brace herself for the pain. Her head felt like it was tearing in two, as she put her hands up to her scalp and dug her fingers into the skin. She tried to holler for help, but her voice was worn and weak. All she could do was lay there and suffer until sleep or shock took over. She prayed one, it didn't matter which, would come soon.

.

The red-headed dwarven priestess had promised to come check on the female blood elf who suffered from paradoxical undressing the night before. The stout woman knocked on the door as a warning, and then let herself in with the key she had permission to borrow from the innkeeper. She cautiously entered the dimmed room, and blinked in the darkness.

"Lassie?" She called, as her eyes adjusted to the low light. She started toward the dimming fire, and stirred the wood to give more heat and light in the small room. The priestess walked to the still body of the blood elf, and leaned in closely to observe her face. The girl's face had a petrified look of pain, teeth bared, eyebrows twitching in her sleep.

"Och, puir deary," the healer cooed, and her hands glowed with light as she blanketed the girl with healing energy. She started to put the back of her hand to the girl's forehead, when her fel-green eyes snapped open.

"Please," she croaked out in Thalassian to the dwarf before her. She reached her hand out and motioned for something to drink. The healer nodded and handed her a flask, but once Marcail brought it to her lips, the healer kept her from tilting the flask upside down. She gave the blood elf a concerned look, and the blood elf seemed to understand, as she sipped from the leather flask gingerly. Her insides seemed to quiet their screams and settle for the cool relief of the liquid. Polishing off the entire flask, she collapsed back down into the bed.

The healer placed the back of her hand on Marcail's forehead, and snatched her hand back as if she were shocked. The priestess felt such a fever coming from her, she knew she had to contact the night elf who hired her. Or at least the male elf that was there the night before, but she had no idea what his name was.

This girl might need a specific herb, like bloodthistle, but the dwarf lacked the necessary coin to purchase it with. The fever had crept on fast, which wasn't a good sign. The dwarf chewed on her cheek as she offered the blood elf more water, who graciously accepted. The fever could have been brought on by the deep frozen air, or it could be some sort of elven disease.

She wished she could ask the elf, who was currently suckling on the water flask. The dwarf didn't feel comfortable leaving her alone. Especially with her wincing in pain every time she tried to sit up. The girl's eyes had lost their luster she saw the night before, the normal healthier glow had faded significantly. The dwarf didn't have the knowledge on healing blood-elf-specific illnesses.

Just as the girl started to slip into sleep, the door creaked as it opened slowly. The priestess turned around to see the male night elf from the previous night. He had clearly had trouble sleeping the night before, as dark circles shadowed under his golden eyes.

"G'morn," the priestess smiled, as the warrior came closer to the bedside and sat down in a chair. He buried his face in his hands, rubbing his temples.

"Sorry, I had a long night," he gritted out, as he glanced at the woman. She nodded in understanding.

"Laddie, Im'ma dwarf," she grinned, and then she went back to Marcail, stroking her hair to soothe her.

"How's she doing?" Galen asked.

"Lassie is runnin' a fever," the priestess' eyebrows drooped in disappointment. "I fear I cannae 'elp 'er. I dunno what ales her."

"Could it be the cold weather? Blood elves usually live in a warm climate, so they aren't made for this." The priestess nodded in agreement.

"It's a possibility," she answered, looking down at the pained eyes. "I've ne'er seen a fever come on so quick 'afore."

"What can we do to make her better?" He asked. He told himself there was no way he'd get his ransom if she died from this illness. And if he truly was a protector, he would be able to keep her from harm.

"I say, let it run it's course," the priestess concluded. "I've done all I can for the lass." The woman started gathering up her things, and left a few healing potions out on the nightstand.

"Give 'er one in the morn, and one in the evenin'. It should aid whatever she's fightin'." The priestess also tossed Galen a small purple vial. "For the 'angover," she winked.

"If I need you again, how do I send for you?" Galen asked, as he popped the cork of the vial and downed the liquid. He feared he might need her help again.

"Och, just ask the keeper upstairs. 'E's my brither." She nodded and took her leave. When the door closed behind her, Galen heaved out a frustrated sigh. He let his gaze fall over the mage, who had bundled herself tightly under the blankets. He rose from his seat and leaned over the girl, pulling some of the blankets down to see her face. The color and spirit in her face were dimmed from the first day he saw her. He put a hand to her forehead and felt she was hot to the touch, but when he touched her, her face began to relax. He pulled back his hand and pursed his lips, as her expression remained relaxed. He returned to the chair he was sitting in.

This was all his fault. Warriors were meant to defend and keep those under their watch safe. The jobs out in Alterac Valley had given him a distaste for the girl, just for her being horde. That was part of the reason why he wasn't able to protect her. Another part of him told him he should probably stay away from her, but she was so inciting, he didn't want to. The way her naked body had squirmed against him, bringing up the thought again almost put him in a coma right there. The recall of her creamy, flawless skin against the shadows and glow of the fire, and her lavish breasts pressed against him all were enough for him to feel his rod stir.

And she mentioned his name in her sleep. What did that mean? Maybe it really meant nothing, but he had kept replaying the whisper of his name on her lips over and over again. It had become the reason why he had trouble sleeping the night before, and why he came to meet the healer this early in the morning. He grunted with the thought of morning. One would lose track of time in Ironforge, with no sun or moon to keep him on pace.

He began to get lost in his thoughts, and he crossed his arms over his chest. He began to nod off, as he watched the girl calmly sleep in front of him. His vision blurred, and finally he succumbed to the slumber.

.

Over the next few days, Galen or one of the humans came in twice a day to give the mage potions and to try and feed her. She had been difficult, refusing to eat and trying to ignore her caretakers, but Galen had refused to give up on her. Even though it caused him some discomfort to ask, he convinced Darrick to try and tend to her since she took a trust to him over anyone else in the group.

"You must eat," the human paladin told the blood elf, with a firm tone in his voice as he held a wooden bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other. The dwarven priestess had given him bloodthistle to put in her broth, but the herbs wouldn't help her bring her fever down if she didn't eat them.

As if she hadn't heard him, Marcail stayed in the same position, turned on her side facing the wall. She felt awful. She was freezing one minute, and then the next she felt as if she had fallen into the river of molten iron that flowed under the city. Her head pounded and her insides felt as if there were a dagger being twisted inside her stomach. If this was to be her demise, she wished it would end sooner.

"I know you can't speak my language, but I'm not going away until you eat this. I'm sure you know exactly why I'm here." Darrick's tone grew more frustrated.

Marcail hummed a weak reply, cuing the human that her intentions had little to do with complying. Her eyes remained closed, as she prayed for the pain to let up, just a little. She felt so weak, even breathing seemed like a chore. She heard the human let out a defeated sigh and the bowl being paced on the nightstand beside her. She had to give him some credit with his patience. He had been at it with her for nearly an hour. When she heard him stand and walk out the door, she breathed a sigh of relief. Once the door closed, she removed the blankets from herself as she felt a hot flash race through her body, and her blood was set to boiling temperatures. The woolen chemise that Sarah had given her seemed to cling uncomfortably to her dampened skin, prickling like tiny needles all over her body, and she was playing with the idea of removing it.

She rolled over on her back and stared at the ceiling. Her vision was spinning, slightly, and she figured it was symptom of the dehydration. The dwarven priestess had been by a few times, but it was clear she didn't know what ailed the mage. To be honest, Marcail didn't even know what was wrong with her. Clearly her body didn't appreciate the brush of death she experienced in the severe weather, at the warrior's hands. She mostly blamed him for her condition, she had tried to convince him not to let her travel there without proper clothes. Closing her eyes and breathing out deeply, she tried to succumb to sleep again, this time praying that she wouldn't wake up.

.

Galen impatiently awaited the return of his human friend in the tavern above the inn. The night elf had been sitting alone at the fire, staring into the flames and praying for success. Finally, his friend joined him, as he dumped himself in an animal-skin armchair next to Galen's seat. The human covered his face with a palm, peeking his eyes out as he let a groan out.

"I have no idea how to make her eat," he mumbled, clearly upset with his results. "She just ignored me as usual."

"I really hoped you would have had better results, today." Galen explained. "It has been three days since we arrived here. I figured if she ate, she would have accepted it by your hand." Once again, that strange twinge of anger nipped at him. He forced himself to push it away, because it was getting annoying. Really, he must have been without the company of a female for too long. When he got a break in the current situation, he figured he might just rectify that problem for a night.

"I fear her condition is getting worse. The priestess is clearly baffled with her illness." Darrick explained as he ordered ale from a curvy barmaid. "You should try talking to her again."

"She's just too difficult to talk to. Five minutes with her and I'm consumed with anger." He scoffed. He didn't want to stress her out any more than he already had, he needed her to live.

"Galen, I've been thinking," the paladin grew more pensive.

"What's that, my friend?" The night elf leaned back in his chair, trying to relax a little.

"I think we need to return her to her own people." Darrick paused, waiting for him to angrily strike back with a rebuttal, but when his friend continued staring into the fire with no response, he continued. "The blood elves would probably know more about this than we do. Hell, they might even have a cure for her. If she stays here, she will parish. The fever and dehydration will take her long before the starvation does. That is a death I wouldn't wish on anyone, Galen."

Silence fell over them, as the noises of the bar patrons conversing and clacking of wooden mugs being brought together became more defined. The fire before them popped loudly, and finally the night elf fisted his hands and gave an answer.

"No."

"Are you serious, Galen? You're willing to kill this girl?" The paladin demanded in awe. Never in his years of following the night elf's orders had Darrick heard something so cruel. He was incredulous as to the sudden shift in his friend's demeanor, it disturbed him greatly. When the night elf didn't respond, a horrible, sick feeling washed over the paladin.

"Galen, I'm sorry," his jaw grew stiff as he looked over into the golden eyes of the night elf. "I have to draw the line, here. There is no honor or glory in this. I can't follow you down this path. I refuse to follow you down this path." He then stood up, took another hopeful look at his old comrade. When he was met again with no response, he scoffed, and then left.

The warrior sat at the armchair silently, staring into the fire, resting his chin on his fists, trying to plan his next move. Darrick was an old friend who had helped him in countless battles, and Galen had more than returned the favor. If his friend walked away, it was never without good reason. Darrick was very loyal, and when the warrior had come to ask for his help with capturing Marcail, he hadn't questioned Galen in the least.

The warrior sighed, running a hand through his long, indigo hair. So much had changed. When had he become such a monster? Darrick was right, and he had the gumption to say it to Galen directly, just like a true friend would. The warrior had feared he was losing his soul to vengeance, but it might have started even earlier than Nellan's attack. After overseeing prisoners for years, and "forceful persuasion" to gain tactical advantages over the Horde army, he probably had gone a little mad. A few cases of "forceful persuasion" had really stuck with him over the years. Had he truly lost his soul along with it?

Sending Marcail home with her people could possibly help her, for no one in Ironforge knew of blood elven diseases. She could be helped, but she probably wouldn't survive the journey to Horde territory. He was certainly in no way shape or form going to leave her behind at some outpost and wait for her family to collect her, much less drag her out into the cold again. He wanted to help her, and he had scoured healing scrolls at the mage tower to find something to help the girl's illness. But throughout everything, he came up empty-handed.

He dug his fingers into the armrest of the chair, as he thought more on what would really help her. The priestess had acquired bloodthistle to feed to the mage, and figured it might help. The herb contained small amounts of arcane magic, which blood elves needed to survive. The small amount of magic should help give her body enough energy to fight off her illness.

The warrior rose from his seat, with one thing on his mind: getting that broth into her system if he had to force her. His brisk footsteps down the stairs should be warning enough for the girl to know he was coming. He removed the key from a pocket and opened the door to the room. Inside, the girl lay on the bed. When she heard the door open with a creak, she turned her head to him. She looked eminently disappointed.

"Wipe that scowl off of your face," he ordered her, in Thalassian, as he stalked to the bed. Marcail found him to be such a pain, but she was so drained of energy, so she did the only thing that would help. She complied.

He sat in the chair beside her and leaned forward. He reached a large hand to her head, and the mage's eyes widened, as she slightly shifted away from him to avoid contact. She groaned lightly in pain from the small movement, and suddenly wished she hadn't just used all her energy. The warrior gave her a stern look, as he brought his hand down on her forehead. It burned to the touch, but he didn't want her to see his weakness by jerking his hand away. His brows furrowed, and he picked the bowl of broth up with the spoon. She looked up at him with miserable, pleading eyes, for him to just leave her be in peace.

"If you have a death wish, I fear I will shatter those dreams." He stared into the now cold broth of the bowl, as the deep crimson herbs swirled in the clear liquid while he stirred with a spoon. She still clearly feared him, but her weakened state had kept from lashing out at him.

"I will give you one more chance to redeem yourself," he tried, raising an eyebrow, challenging her to refuse. Her gaze slipped away from him, as she looked to the iron ceiling.

At this point, forcing her to eat would be torture. Swallowing had become difficult, and cold water burned like acid in her mouth. Marcail didn't believe that a bowl of broth and bloodthistle leaves were going to help her, even in the least. At this point, suffering in bed for three days with nothing to alleviate her body pain and fever, she was ready to slip into the afterlife. Even thoughts seemed exhausting, and she swore that even her hair hurt.

She felt her eyelids growing heavy again, but the warrior moved closer, and reached for her. She felt his proximity and faint warning bells rang off in her body. If she hadn't wasted her energy moving away from him the first time, she would have done it now. A cool, large hand reached underneath her neck, and she felt the bed shift as he sat down beside her. Another arm snaked behind her back, lifting her slightly from her position on the bed.

Suddenly, Galen was immediately struck by just how sick the mage was. Her body was limp, as if she were paralyzed. He had gotten hopeful that she was feeling a little better when she moved away from him when he put his hand on her forehead. His eyebrows furrowed in alarm, as he was struck by the thought that she was going to die here, in this bed, in his arms.

A wave of sheer will and motivation rushed through him, as he refused to let another life die at his hand. He moved pillows and blankets behind her, and gently rested her down on them so she remained propped up. A few sighs of pain escaped her, and she croaked out some words that meant nothing in any language he understood.

"I know you're in pain," he began, suddenly feeling sympathy for her, but he also knew the best thing to help her. "But you must try to eat."

She looked up at him, propped up with all of the pillows and blankets, and her cracked lips parted. She wanted to tell him to just let her die at this stage in her fever. As her pale lips parted, he spooned out some of the broth with bloodthistle leaves, and held it to her. Letting her take the next move. She could reject it at this point, or acccept his offer.

Marcail stared into his golden eyes, assessing whether or not it was a good idea to continue her life, at his whim. She wondered if she should just reject his offer, and let herself fall further down this pit of sickness. Something in the night elf's eyes made her reconsider her stance. She opened her mouth a little more, and allowed him to spoon the rest of the liquid on her small tounge. It was difficult to swallow, as she choked a few times and grasped at her neck. However, the warrior remained at her side, rubbing her back until the liquid finally made it down her throat. When she gained enough sense to look up at him again, he had another spoon filled with the bloodthistle broth. Frowning, she took another spoonful.

This painfully continued until the bowl was emptied. Marcail felt like she would explode from the brims of her ribs, but also strangely felt a little restored. She felt the arcane energy of the bloodthistle coursing through her veins, even if it were such a small amount. The pain she felt all over her body slowly dwindled into a tolerable level. She couldn't help but give a thankful lopsided smile at Galen when she met his gaze.

"T-thank you," she croaked out. The warrior was taken aback by her sudden change.

"You're welcome," he finally answered. He wanted to tell her how overjoyed he was to get her to eat, but when her eyes started fluttering, he knew that this was not the time. He cupped the back of her neck again and lifted her by the small of her back to get the extra pillows and blankets from underneath her. When he removed them, he rested her back down on her single pillow.

"Galen?" She asked, as he was positioning the blankets around her.

"Yes?"

"I don't understand why you're so determined on keeping me alive," she said, as her brows raised together in concern. He felt his heart suddenly squeeze again, as he struggled to gather his thoughts to answer the blood elf.

"I need you to stay alive."

"I just don't understand. Why?" She asked, her eyes growing in confusion.

"Just know that it has nothing to do with you, personally." He tried to answer, but he felt he had already given too much of his mission away.

"But-" her eyes darted from him to the ceiling as she thought, "that doesn't make any sense. How could it have nothing to do with me if you took me away from my home?" Galen knew he shouldn't give too much away. He had already told her too much.

"Believe me when I say, that this has nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with the Lightbringers." He finally answered, as he watched the mage's eyes relax.

"You honestly say that?"

"I do," he answered.

"I was so worried," she replied, weakly chuckling in sarcasm, as her eyes still shifted between awake and fluttering asleep.

"Do you wish to sleep?" He asked, gently. The tone even surprised him, as her eyes widened. She was a little surprised at his tenderness in allowing her to dismiss herself from their conversation. In thruth, he did understand the meainging of sleep, and how important it was for someone with an illness to sleep.

"I-" she stuttered, her eyes wandering the wall opposite from him, before she finally came out and said what was on her mind. She fiddled with the blankets in her fingers, unsure of her words. "I'm ready to die."

"Why?" He asked in a more harsh tone than he wanted. Her eyes snapped to him, as she tried to judge what would be appropriate to share with him.

"I just am. In fact, I would prefer a quicker death than this damned fever," she winced as she moved, as a sharp ache in her neck kept her from moving too quickly. At first, Galen couldn't believe her. Life was a gift, and right before he would end one, he saw the desperation and urgency to prolong their own life a little longer. He had never before seen a life become so somber that death was their only wish. His prisoners were all very passionate and valued their lives. It now brought up a new pain in his chest to think of it.

"You're not going to die," Galen replied, looking away, as he began to stand.

"You don't know that for sure," she answered, weakly. He turned his head toward her, with a menacing glare, but her eyes had closed, and she was breathing deeply.

"I won't let you die," he murmured, as he collected the wooden bowl from the nightstand and began to walk to the door. He glanced at her one last time, as she dozed off, and silently swore to himself that he would not let her die from this.


	7. Chapter 7

"_Marcail," a voice called from the darkness. She stirred, and surprisingly, there was no pain in her body. She wondered if she were dead._

_The mage opened her eyes, to see herself in Outland, in Shadowmoon Valley. The bold, striking colors of the red earth against the blackened sky reminded her of her intense anxiety every time she came into Shadowmoon Valley, as green Fel-lava flowed in deep crevices in the land. This land contained much evil and corrupted power. It immediately put her on edge as the demonic energy slammed through her._

"_Marcail," the voice called again._

_She turned around, to see the tall form of Prince Kael'Thas standing behind her. She shrieked and jumped back in terror._

"_Marcail," he said again, but with a stern tone. _

"_I told you to stay out of my mind," she cried, desperately._

"_Why are you frightened, cousin?" An evil grin formed on his face._

"_You betrayed us all! You sold us out to the Burning Legion!" she squeaked out, her stance was still defensive, ready to cast a spell to protect herself._

"_I did what was right," he growled, eyes narrowing, as he took another step closer. "I was the one who wasn't afraid to get my hands dirty after the destruction of the Sunwell. You all betrayed _me._"_

"_Don't come any closer," she put her hand up, as it glowed with a frosty blue aura._

"_Silly girl, you think you even have a chance against me?" He chuckled darkly, and then shot a hand out and snatched her wrist. Marcail cried out in pain as she tried to get her hand back, as he drew her closer to him. "You are weak. We have the same potency in our blood, but you won't have the courage to do what it takes to be really great. You will always lose against someone like me."_

"_I'd rather die a thousand times over than turn to the demons! I'll never join the Burning Legion."_

"_I did it all for the likes of our people," he snarled, his grasp clutching tighter around her wrist. "How grateful you all have been, making your own prince a mark of shame in Silvermoon City. I still intend to restore what I want, and now the task falls to you."_

"_Me?" Her eyes widened in surprise, her fear still evident behind it._

"_You haven't been meditating, Marcail. You've grown even weaker than before." He grinned. "It has been many years since our minds connected. You didn't fight me so hard last time. It's funny, even in death, I have contained the power that I gained in life." His tone changed to dominance, as he glowered at her. "But now, everything will fall into place. I have you, and you will go and do what I say." _

_The ground fell from under her, and Kael'Thas held her dangling by her wrist above a darkened pit. She felt the sting of angry tears and yelped, as she tried to grab on to a ledge with her free hand to save herself from the black hole she was about to be dropped in._

"_You cannot deny the thirst, give into it," a wicked smile formed on his face and he released her wrist. Marcail let out a scream, as she fell down into the deep pit of blackness._

.

Marcail suddenly shot up from her bed in Ironforge. Feverish sweat covered her body, as she looked around in a daze around the room. She pushed the blankets off of her legs, and stood. Someone had come and changed her into white linen shift at some time during her slumber, but she didn't notice. She pushed the blankets off of her, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She rose, unwavering and as if she were never sick. Her bare feet started toward the door, as she began to smell a tantalizing aroma from above her. She opened the door and heard the loud voices from upstairs.

Her small feet made no sound as she effortlessly glided up the stairs. When she stood before the bar patrons, only a few noticed her, but most were drowned in their own liquor they didn't even pay her mind. That's when Marcail held her palms out to them all, and a wolfish grin tugged the corners of her mouth. She started chanting the words she vowed she would never again say, as a purple mist started to fill the room. The patrons all started to grow tired, but some of the warriors and rogues tried to come for her. The gnomes and dwarves were no match for her, as she siphoned their mana. A warrior took a swing towards her, but clumsily fell before her, as she sucked what little arcane energy he had from his body. Once she drained the entire bar of all of their mana, she grew angry.

"That is all you have to offer?" She demanded in a voice not like her own. "Pity."

She finished draining the arcane energy from a gnome warlock, before she dropped his lifeless body to the ground. She pushed the door to the city open, and with a loud squeaking noise, she was loose.

Marcail sniffed the air like an animal, and her attention immediately turned to the right, where the open arches to Tinkertown beckoned her. She floated ominously in the direction of the powerful mana energy, her feet not even touching the ground with her powerful magic. She floated into Tinkertown, as gnomes saw her figure and hesitantly watched her. The mage grinned wickedly, and unleashed her mana siphoning spell. The wind whirled faster than at the inn just a few minutes ago, as she drank in the energy.

Marcail threw her head back and closed her eyes, the terrified screams of her victims filled her veins and sent a new thrill throughout her body. The taste of fear was rapturous. The pleasure of arcane magic sent her into a state of such euphoria, she cursed herself for denying this pleasure for so long. She felt the power surging through her veins, and she could take on the world and avenge Prince Kael'Thas, and finally bring the Sunwell back to her people. They would be unstoppable.

.

Galen heard the distressed cries coming from the direction of the inn while he was walking back with more bloodthistle to give to Marcail. He felt his veins turn to ice, as he figured she had been discovered and was now being made a public demonstration of what the Alliance would do to any enemy in their city. He quickly mounted up and ran toward the sounds.

He prayed to Elune that it was just a minor explosion or fire, something that happened regularly in Tinkertown, with the many gnomish engineers. Since Tinkertown was very close to the inn, it seemed like a plausible excuse. Though deep down in his gut, he felt that something had gone terribly wrong. He dismounted when he got to the inn, and kicked the door open. He almost dropped his swords at the sight of all the dead dwarves and gnomes littered about the floor.

The screaming started again, but it was coming from outside of the inn. He raced towards the door, and looked to the arches of Tinkertown. A purple dust was coming from the area, and he couldn't see anything. He dashed through the arches, and fanned the thick air to try and see. Almost as soon as he began fanning, the smoke started to clear. He finally started to see figures, and then he felt the air being sucked in one direction. He looked to where it was coming from, and his eyes widened to see Marcail, suspended in air, as she inhaled the purple smoke.

He, himself, began to feel weak and he dropped to his knees. He realized that she was killing him by draining his mana. Every living being had some form of mana, and even the small amount that Galen had, the blood elf had tapped into it and was draining him dry.

"Marcail!" He called out, but she couldn't hear him. He used a sword to help him stand and forced himself to walk towards her. Once he was in her proximity, he grabbed her ankle, yanking her down. The air began to clear as she dropped to the ground in a lifeless heap. He watched as the rest of the purple mist started to go to back the bodies of gnomes around the area. He looked above his own head to see some of the mist pouring down into his body. He felt his strength returning, almost immediately.

Galen wanted to be anywhere but where he was in that moment. This was almost too much. He looked down at Marcail, who could very well be dead, and he crawled to her. He grabbed her arms to pull her up, and her head swiveled around, her hair in her face as she let out a pitiful moan. He pushed her hair back, to see her eyes heavily lidded, but the emerald glow of the fel-taint had returned to normal. She looked at him with confusion.

"Marcail, what the hell did you do?" He demanded, shaking her.

Her eyes grew wide, and she pulled herself away to empty her stomach away from Galen, on the cold iron floor below them. She clumsily tried to brush the back of her hand to her mouth, but seemed to miss. Instead, she kept awkwardly crashing her hand into her face. A familiar haze in her eyes proved to him what was wrong with her. _Dear Elune, she's high._ His glare seared into her, as he let her go. She collapsed in his lap, headfirst. She tried to pick herself up, and finally came face to face with him.

He shook with rage, she just siphoned the souls his countrymen! He couldn't even bring himself to look at her. This proved that blood elves really were evil. Who sacrifices lives so they could become more powerful? Only abominations could come from such magic. He wanted to hate her, but then he heard a whimper and a stifling sob. He reluctantly brought his gaze to her, and saw the tears running down her face.

"G-galen," she stammered, her head hung as she braced herself on his knees. "Words will never be able to express how sorry I am for this."

He bent his head lower to see if she were truly crying, for he had never heard anything like this from any member of the Horde. They were never sorry over the deaths of the Alliance. Suddenly, plated footsteps were heard on the iron floor, and Galen knew the guards were coming. The sensible thing to do was to stay there and allow Marcail to be sentenced to death or life in the Stormwind Stockade. That was the loyal thing to do for the Alliance. He should stay there, and allow her to pay for her crimes.

It was her tears that wouldn't stop flowing and how she expressed feelings just moments before that made him do what he did next. Galen removed his cloak, wrapped Marcail up tightly in it, and pulled the hood over her ears. He then gathered her up into his arms and left Tinkertown.

.

The mage had fallen asleep in his arms as he purchased tickets to Stormwind from Ironforge in the deeprun tram. He sat on a bench, with her still gathered up, waiting for the next train to take them out of Ironforge. He had already decided where he was taking her. He glanced down, the helm covering everything above her small, pert nose. Full lips were parted slightly as she breathed evenly in her sleep. She was so small he was able to cover her completely in his cloak.

He let out a long sigh, shifting his weight on the bench. He really got himself into some binds in the past, but this one was bordering treason. He wanted to demand of Marcail what exactly happened to the events leading up to the murder of a dozen dwarves and gnomes. What kind of excuse would be good enough? None.

Then, the gem touching his chest began to heat up. He dug down into his shirt and removed the necklace that Sarah had used to bind her magic with. How was the mage able to use her magic against everyone? The gem, being so close to Marcail, started to glow slightly, with the same glow of fel magic that the blood elves reflected in their eyes.

Marcail sighed in her sleep and burrowed her head deeper into Galen's arm. He looked to the ceiling, trying to get his mind off of the mage and his actions for a little while. Where was that damned tram?

.

The journey to Stormwind was longer than he wanted it to be, but luckily, Marcail had still been asleep for the whole thing. Galen wanted to rest in Stormwind, breathing in the night air, and looking to the sky above him and smiling, but he knew that they would be safer if they boarded the passage to Auberdine and rested on the boat.

He mounted his nightsaber, and pushed forward through Stormwind City. With all the bouncing, the mage started to stir awake. She could vaguely hear the footpads of the animal on the cobblestone. She heard the sounds of voices in the distance, but dismissed them, trying to close her eyes and let sleep elude her once more.

She must have drifted off to a nap, because a few minutes later, she felt that she was being hoisted in the air again, and the sound of a nightsaber, growling lowly, as the sound faded away. She heard heavy footsteps on wood. She listened to the rhythm of the footsteps, and then heard gentle voices as Galen exchanged something to another person. He then turned and took her down some stairs and deeper into another room. Her eyes fluttered as she allowed to see where she was.

"Marcail," he spoke, as he laid her down upon a soft bed. She listened to the sound of waves lapping at a shore, and the gentle rocking made her conclude they had recently boarded a ship.

"Marcail," Galen tried again. The mage blinked open her eyes, turning her head to him. The fel glow of her eyes were back to normal, though they seemed a bit darker and potent than the first day he saw her. Her vision was a little hazy, but she knew she had to speak to him. He just saved her life. Twice now.

"I'm sure you want an explanation for what happened," she gave a sigh, and struggled to sit up.

"Yes," the warrior went to close the door to the room, and he grabbed a chair and brought it next to the bed. "I think I deserve that much." He locked his eyes on her, reading her carefully. She used her delicate fingers to massage her temples and closed her eyes gently.

"You know what I am, and you know that because I'm a pureblood mage, my magic is more potent than the average blood elf."

"Yes, yes," he said angrily, waving a hand, "get to the part where you killed everyone at the inn." The color drained from the mage's face, as she clenched her fists.

"I don't know how many days I was sick for," she began, eying him as if he would tell her. When he didn't, she continued, "but it was long enough to affect my meditations. Instead of siphoning magic, I have learned to control my magical addiction through intense meditation. My parents taught me this method and kept me from hurting anyone." She explained, and then looked down to her hands, where she fingered the quilt on the bed.

"Go on," he ordered insensitively. She jumped a little, her misty eyes meeting his and he immediately wanted to take the words back.

"You have to understand, Galen. I fight this addiction every day. I have prided myself in how I don't need to siphon mana from creatures." Her voice at the end wavered a little, and she took a deep breath in. Then, she continued. "One time in my youth, my parents had just taught me the technique of deep meditation, I ran a fever for a few days and lost consciousness for a night. It was strange, it was like being in my body, but I couldn't control what I said or did. It was like being in the audience as everything played out before me."

She swallowed hard, this was clearly difficult for her to retell the tragic story. Galen almost didn't want her to relive whatever personal hell she dealt with, but he had to know what he was getting into by bringing her to Teldrassil.

"I got loose on the streets of Silvermoon. I ran rampant, and I went directly where I smelled the most mana. Like a beast, I followed the scent trail, and I found a few commoners who were just talking together. I remember crying when I saw them dying at my own hand. I remember trying to gain control, but nothing would work. As I watched myself kill my people, I thrashed around in my body, and I remember a voice calling out to me. It said, _'You can't fight your destiny.'_"

Marcail stopped talking again. She had never shared this with anyone but her parents. Not even Hayden knew about the voice that spoke to her that day. It was so strange letting it all come out to the night elf, someone who could care less about her well-being.

"I've never wanted any of it," she looked him directly in the eye, her intense gaze searing into him with a strength he had never seen anyone else express. "I never would take a life for my own personal benefit." Galen breathed out, gently, as the intensity of her gaze filled him and strangely made him feel aroused. Her potency and respect for other life made him slightly respect her.

"I believe you," he answered, shifting his weight in the chair.

"Thank you," Marcail answered, dropping her gaze. "I was having a nightmare, just before I went on that... that..." She couldn't find the right words to describe what happened in Ironforge. So she just skipped over it, continuing her tale. "I was talking to Kael'Thas. He wanted me to do something for my people. He was angry with me because I wouldn't comply. Then, I woke up, and I was watching someone use me like a puppet once again." Galen's eyes hardened.

"This is serious," he said, "you clearly cannot be without meditation for too long. You also need restraints."

"I'll be fine for a couple of days, now." She shuddered, thinking of the stolen power flowing in her blood. "But don't worry," she pointed to his chest, where the gem dangled on the necklace, "I won't cast any magic. If you want you can have Sarah bind me until it fades away. I won't struggle."

The warrior felt primal heat stirring around him, as he thought of her saying those last words again in a slightly different context. _Damn it!_ He cursed himself, this was no time for him to have these thoughts. But then again, was there ever a good time to have lustful intentions towards a blood elf?

"If you open a portal-" he began, but was interrupted.

"I can't do that." She shook her head, "I'm not at my full power. Not even close."

"Then why did you suggest to bind your magic again?" He asked.

"Well, in case you don't trust me," she shrugged, moving her eyes from him and then wrapped the cloak tighter around herself. "I also can cast a few spells, not enough to aid in an escape, but enough to be a pain." She shrugged again. Galen suddenly forgot all about their situation, and chuckled a little. He leaned back in the chair and turned a more playful gaze on her.

"And just how can you be a pain if you have as little magic as you say you do?"

"Well," a tiny grin plucked at the side of her mouth, but quickly dropped. He felt a little disappointed he couldn't see at least a small smile come from her. "I am a frost mage."

Suddenly, Galen felt his feet drop in temperature. He looked down to see a formation of ice crystals beginning to glue him to the wooden floor. He jumped with the reflexes of a warrior, shattering the ice before it could build further and turning over the chair he was sitting would have taken that action as hostile, had she not giggled a little.

"See?" She said, with a slight flirtatious smile. "I can annoy, but that's about it." Galen's brows furrowed, but he couldn't help but return the smile. She had never smiled at him before, but with good reason.

"Well, good. Then I won't have to bind you," he returned a flirtatious glance her way, before he quickly shot himself down. _What the hell are you doing?_ He demanded of himself.

She looked up at him, in slight bewilderment, and got the feeling that he didn't mean to be provocative.

"How long is the boat ride going to be?" She asked, changing the subject, and pushing past her bruised pride. This wasn't the time for her to care about being attractive to her captor. Come to think of it, there wasn't any proper time for that.

"At least two days, and that's if the weather is clear." He answered.

"Can I know where we're going?" She asked, haphazardly. There was a silence for a while, as he debated.

"Darnassus," he finally answered. Suddenly, the female's look changed to panic.

"Darnassus? Are you kidding? I can't go there!" She sat up fully, but instantly regretted it, as she felt pain aching at her head. She forced herself from the bed and went to him, the ends of his long cloak dragging behind her. She clasped her hands together and brought them to her chest. "Galen, please, I'm begging you, don't take me there."

"It's the only place where I can keep an eye on you all the time," his body went rigid with her proximity.

His eyes drifted to her quivering lips, and he wondered what it would feel like to kiss someone like Marcail. Those primal urges came up again, as he contemplated kissing her, maybe even taking her up against the wall or the bed. He had seen those long, luscious legs. He fantasized those legs wrapping around his waist, her ankles locked as he drove into her over and over.

"Galen?" The soft voice called to him, as he was brought back to reality.

"Yes?" He could only reply.

"I can't go to Darnassus."

"Why not," his brows furrowed. "You will be watched constantly, so you won't hurt anyone."

"That's not enough," she shook her head, as pretty locks of deep golden hair flowed around her. "I can still hurt someone. With a population like Darnassus, I could drain everyone in the city. What if I slip under his control and you can't stop me? I won't have more death on my hands. I simply won't! What if I kill you? What if I kill your friends? " She began to sound a little hysterical.

"Marcail," he took her shoulders holding her steady, "relax." She looked up at him with misty eyes. "You are safe where you are going, I promise you. We will be able to restrain you." He assured her, and the mage seemed to calm down.

In his grasp, she felt something different from the first time he grabbed her. Instead of anger and control that led him to grab her, this one was more grounding, and much more gentle. When had that happened? She wondered. She felt the color rising in her cheeks, and something in Galen's yellow eyes changed, as they grew a little darker, a little harder to read.

What was he thinking in that moment? If only she could use her magic to read emotions. His gaze dropped, as he scanned her body, still in the thin white shift. The cloak she was wearing had parted enough to see the outline of her nipples. The idea to take her ran through his mind again.

"Galen?" She spoke, sounding confused.

He was brought out of his lustful haze to see her confused look. He cursed himself, knowing he hadn't given her a reason to really trust him yet, she was probably uneasy as to why he was still touching her. He dropped his arms, letting her go.

"I suggest you avoid leaving the room," he said, clearing his throat. "I'm sorry I haven't found you anything decent to wear, but getting you away from Alliance guards was more important."

Marcail blushed, her face falling to the floor, as she remembered she had woken up to a different shift from the one Sarah gave her. For all she knew, Galen dressed her. She thought of her unconscious in his arms, completely naked as he slowly undressed her. She blushed harder and turned away, trying to hide the deep crimson color her face had turned.

"I-I, um," she stammered, as she clasped her hands and fumbled with her fingers. "D-did you..." She trailed off, too embarrassed to ask him.

"If you think that I dressed you, you need not worry." He shook his head. "A dwarven priestess brought you the shift and dressed you." He explained.

She swallowed and nodded, keeping her back turned. He was glad she did when he noticed her deep flush, as the corners of his mouth jerked upward. Her bashful nature was slightly cute. He was suddenly reminded of when she was stark naked, grinding against him during her first night in Ironforge. He was tempted to bring it up, but he was already toeing the line with his primal energy.

"I will return," he spoke up. "I must check with the captain to see when we will actually arrive at Darkshore, and make sure you will be safe on this ship." He gave her a nod, as she looked over her shoulder at him, as she acknowledged it. He spun around and left. After the door closed, Marcail let out a long sigh.

The tension in the room had caused her to hold her breath without even realizing it. She removed Galen's cloak from her shoulders, and folded it up on the chair he was sitting in. She looked around the room, hoping there was something to take her mind off of the night elf. The room was very plain, just a small brazier for warmth on cold nights in a corner, and opposite from the brazier was a small desk. She wished she had some books, because if she were to be stuck in the tiny room for two whole days just to sit there and stare out of a porthole, she was going to be sick with boredom.

Climbing on the bed, she knelt on the quilt to peer out of the porthole. The Alliance harbor was dead empty, workers had long gone to bed. Not even travelers were seen on the land. She looked up to the dark night sky, glittering with stars. She was suddenly filled with an urgency to go out on deck, and drink in the smell of the sea.

She traced a digit over the cool glass of the porthole, her sad reflection staring back at her. How was she ever going to get home? Galen was taking her to Teldrassil, a secluded island far away from any Horde outpost. She might never get home. Perhaps he wouldn't be reasonable with his ransom, and keep upping the price for her freedom. She frowned at that thought.

What if he just sold her into slavery? Her name was not unknown, for she had been in Northrend a long time, and definitely made some enemies. They would probably pay a hefty fee to keep her as a slave, or worse. Even as a blood elf, she would go for some good gold, knowing her race was well liked, even among the Alliance community.

Her eyes fell to the quilt, and she sat back on her heels. If her ransom was paid, she would have to return home. A fate of living as a slave in Galen's house might not be so bad, after all. As long as she dodged his temper, she could stay away from Nellan. She wrinkled her nose and cringed at the thought. What made slavery more tempting than going home? She would be a slave either way, but if she were home, at least Nellan seemed to be a gentleman, unlike the brutish warrior.

No, going home would be nice. She could just live in Silvermoon, bare the children they wanted, and still be free to roam around her home city. She could even sneak off and save some more Wretcheds. She could bring them back home, to their families and loved ones. What life would she have in Darnassus? None. The barbaric warrior would never let her free without what he wanted, that much was pretty clear.

She reflected on the past few hours of her life. Galen hadn't seemed so brutish when he cradled her on the way to Ironforge. Then again, it was partially his fault that she had gotten so sick. But his eyes had looked so worried. She had seen that look in his eyes a few times during the span she knew him. Once, when she tripped on her dress and fell into his arms. A second time, when she awoke from her meditation to find she had fallen off of Darrick's horse. A third time, when she faded in and out of her haze after the incident in Ironforge.

He also could have left her to die at the hands of the guards. He could have killed her himself, out of revenge for his fellow soldiers. He had every right to, in her mind. But he didn't do it. Perhaps he was just doing so for his own personal gain, but it felt like there was something else driving his actions. Time would tell if she were wrong. Sighing out of boredom, she sat down on her bottom and tried to think of things to say to Nellan if she ever saw him again.


	8. Chapter 8

Lucky for Marcail, after an hour or two, there was a knock on the door. She began to get up, for any company was better than her own thoughts. However, the door opened, and the frame was filled with Galen's massive form. She nibbled the corner of her cheek, feeling she would never get used to the size of a male night elf this close. He had a few things in his arms, as he came in and closed the door behind him with his back. He moved to the desk and laid out his items.

She looked to see a shiny, red apple, a few bunches of grapes, and a few loaves of bread. She licked her lips, feeling hunger creep up on her. His back was still turned, and he still hadn't said a word. She was tempted to just come up behind him, snatch some food for herself and devour it like an animal before he could protest.

All thoughts of food halted, when she heard the clicking of him unfastening his plate armor. Off came the shoulder armor, his gloves, bracers, and breastplate. Had he lost all his senses? Why was he removing his clothes? She swallowed hard, watching this process. He had on some type of pale blue tunic underneath his chest armor, and she prayed if he were to remove his lower armor, he had some sort of cloth pants on.

Marcail cleared her throat, hoping that he would remember her presence in the room, but if he heard, he ignored it. The belt buckle unsnapped, as he placed it on the ground with the rest of his plate. The blood elf averted her eyes away from him, wrapping her arms around her knees and drawing them in.

"I assumed you would be hungry. Forgive me for taking so long in returning," he spoke, still facing the wall as he unfastened the latches on his plated legs. "The captain and I shared a few drinks, and I lost track of time."

She quickly glanced his way, praying that he was decent. A breath of relief rushed from her lungs when she saw that he was. He wore black leather breeches, and even had on leather boots. He turned to face her, tossing her something long and flimsy through the air and it landed beside her.

"I also managed to get you a dress. It'll probably be too big, though. It was made for a human woman." He explained.

She crawled to the material and grasped it. It was of different shades of white and blue, and of linen material. She pulled it on over her head, thankful for the softer shift providing her a barrier from the uncomfortable, scratchy linen. She stood, smoothing the blue skirt out, and pulling on the collar to keep the sleeves from falling from her shoulders. It was a peasant's dress, but at least she could be seen in public.

"It'll do," she said, the extra material pooling at her feet. "Thank you."

Looking up, she saw the warrior staring at her with that strange expression again, as if he were in a trance. Her breath hitched, as his eyes fixed on her. She shifted her weight and picked up the extra skirts. Boldly, she strolled to him, her eyes watching him cautiously. As she passed him, and stood at the other edge of the desk, she picked up the apple. Glancing at him again, she frowned.

"Why do you keep staring at me so?" Bringing the apple to her lips, she gently bit into it, never taking her eyes off of him.

"Forgive me," he said, looking away to grabbing a loaf of bread and pulled the chair out to sit in it. "I wasn't expecting that dress to look so fetching on you."

Marcail felt a light flush rise, unsure whether to be flattered or afraid. She bit into the apple again, chewing slowly, her feelings still unrest. When he looked at her like that, there was a strange feeling that formed in the pit of her stomach, and it now wasn't going away. She reached for a loaf of bread for herself, closing her fingers over it, a dreadfully slow process as she kept her eyes on the warrior.

"I do believe you are staring now, Marcail," he didn't even look up as he broke his loaf in half. She furrowed her brows and flushed in embarrassment.

"I am not staring," she defended, eyes widening and cradling the bread in the crook of her arm. She turned away and stiffly walked back to the bed. She heard a deep chuckle from him behind her. He was amused! She planted herself on the spread, crossing her legs and started on the apple again.

"Then what would you call it?" He pressed, turning slightly in his chair, popping a broken piece of bread into his mouth.

"Nothing," she squeaked, then started coughing as she choked on the bite of apple.

"Mhmm," a small grin crept on the warrior's face. He swallowed his food and looked away. "For the sleeping arrangements, I figured you could explore outside while I got some sleep. You've been sleeping for the past few days strait."

"Could I?" Her eyes lightened at the idea of going outside. "I'm not even tired at all, I would love for that opportunity. But..." she paused, nodding to the door. "Will they stop me?"

"Don't worry about it, I spoke with the captain about you. They won't give you any trouble." He waved a hand. Marcail wolfed down the rest of the apple and stood to leave.

"It is a little chilly out there, I'd take the cloak," he added, as she turned to him and caught his eyes. She nodded, and pulled his dark blue cloak over her shoulders. Pulling the door open, she glanced at him one last time before she left.

.

Galen sighed, feeling his body relax at her absence. When he was around her, all his senses went into overdrive. Every movement she made, every sway of her hips, and every look she gave him made his insides groan with desire. When she came to him, the smell of her skin had filled his senses. And that dress on her! Elune's blood! She managed to make even the simplest of dresses look as good as her wedding dress.

When she ate that damned apple, it took every ounce of his will to suppress pulling her into his lap and desperately kissing her. It didn't help that the captain had brought out the special reserve for Galen, being old friends. The brandy had gone strait to his head without food in his belly. The brandy had amplified the already-difficult drive he had for her, causing him to stare at her without a care in the world.

He rubbed his face, breathing deeply. This was becoming a problem. Being near her made his body writhe in pain from all the tension, but being away from her made his body cry out for not having the tension. He had tried to leave the captain sooner, but he didn't want to be impolite. After all, he was stretching the laws and getting his friend involved with his treason. He didn't want a reason for the captain to harbor ill feelings.

He polished off his meager dinner with some water, and trudged lazily to the bed. He pulled the quilt back, and smelled the mage's smell fill his senses again. _Great_, Galen said to himself. Crawling into the bed and removing his shirt and leather boot liners. If he didn't get to sleep, he would be extremely tired the next day, and even if he did, he would probably dream of her. He pulled the covers over himself and expelled a long breath.

.

Marcail tip-toed up the stairs to the deck. She lifted the skirts high enough so she wouldn't trip over them, and tried to avoid creaking on the wood. Once she reached the top, she let herself unravel into the crisp night air, stretching her arms out and breathing in the salty smells of the ocean. Looking to the sky, she saw the beautiful night sky, amplified in the middle of the ocean as stars reflected their glittering dances back to her on the glassy water.

Nothing could make her happier at that moment. She walked to the guard rail of the ship, and started on her loaf of bread. Being away from Ironforge and no longer locked underground made her feel so much better. Like she was a different person, not about to go into slavery or anything else dismal like that. Scoffing at her ability to bring down even the happiest of moods, she slumped her shoulders and stared out into sea.

.

After a while, the air became became less crisp and more frigid. Shivering, she wrapped the cloak around her tighter, and turned to the entrance to the lower decks of the ship. Marcail stepped carefully down the stairs and turned to the room Galen had brought her to. She figured that she could ignite the brazier for him, since the chill had crept below decks. After all, he had come in to make fires for her in Ironforge, she could spare a bit of kindness.

The mage slowly opened the door, to not disturb the warrior. When she saw that he hadn't even stirred, she entered the room, closing the door behind her. She carefully walked through the dark room, the starlight barely giving her enough light for her to find the brazier. Once she was sure she found it, she pooled her magic to cast a flamestrike into the coals. They caught almost immediately, bursting into lively flames and heat.

Marcail turned to leave the room, she figured she might go exploring the lower decks, leaving Galen to sleep peacefully. She started to leave, when her eyes caught something sparkling on the warrior's chest. She tip-toed to him, and stopped at his bedside. There, the gem lay out in the open, on his chest, so unguarded and tempting. She could snatch it right there, get her magic back and make a portal for home. However, if she failed and woke the warrior, there was sure to be hell to pay.

The mage was too tempted not to reach her slender arm out to hover over the emerald. She immediately felt the call of her own magic, but it had been amplified. Before she could even wonder why, the tingling sensation took her over. It was soothing and comfortable and swirling around her, filling her. This was her magic, so unlike the feeling of absorbing someone else's, this gave her peace. Her hand came down and her fingers wrapped around the emerald. She felt a powerful rush of arcane energy in her palm, potent and strong. She closed her eyes, savoring the feeling, as she felt a smile tug at her lips. She felt herself swaying gently, as the familiar music of her magic entranced her.

Everything came halting to a stop, when she felt gripping arms jerking her away from her magic. Her head went spinning, as she felt herself being flipped. Crying out in surprise, her eyes snapped open, as intense pressure bore into her lower body. Her eyes focused on a very angry night elf, with flashing yellow eyes as he held her hands above her body. In his anger, his iron grip tightened around her wrists as the pain shot through her body.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" She cried out, shaking in fear. This was exactly what she wanted to avoid.

"You think you could steal your magic back, kill me and run off?" He demanded angrily. She wanted to point out that he was the one that stole her magic in the first place, and she had every right to try and escape, but he was beyond reason. She shook in fear, turning her face from him.

"No! Of course not! I was just- I'm so sorry!" She whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut.

"You lie!" His grip on the girl was locked, as she squirmed against him in pain. "You have proven to me you cannot be trusted." He glared at her.

The mage proved herself to fall under her stereotype once again. She could not resist the call of magic. Blood elves would always prove to be dishonest when it came to magic. He was so angry with her, he wanted to just be rid of this trouble. The rage of her betrayal had shocked him, and even hurt him a little.

"What am I going to do with you?" He glared at the small form beneath him, as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"Please," she whispered, he could barely hear her begging. "Please, you're hurting me." He loosened his grip on her, but still kept her still. "I was only holding it," she defended, still keeping her face turned from him.

"Am I to believe you were not going to try and escape?" He scoffed.

"No," she admitted, knowing she couldn't openly lie like that. It would be impossible to convince him otherwise, and he would just get angrier if she did lie.

She heard him breathe out deeply, and felt him try to calm himself down. She fastened her lips, keeping her face turned from him and her eyes tightly closed, bracing herself for anything else his rage would throw at her. Silence eluded them both, as she trembled beneath him, and he kept her in the position.

"Look at me, Marcail," he ordered, but his voice had significantly calmed down.

She slowly turned her head to him, and her eyes followed up his face and rested on his glowing golden eyes. His face reflected a mix of anger and that look with his lidded eyes and parted lips. His dark hair fell over his shoulder, falling beside her on the pillow. He felt her softness, now aware of her nestled against his growing rod.

Her face was a mix of fear, sorrow, and shame. The tip of her pretty nose had gone pink, and a few tears streaked her face. Guilt crept up on him, he shouldn't have lost his temper like that. Her caramel-bronze hair was fanned out before him, and looked even darker in the night with the dimmed light of the brazier in the corner. Wait, the brazier was lit? He glanced over, and sure enough, he saw that she had lit it. Looking back at her with a curious gaze, she opened her mouth to speak, as if she knew what he was thinking about.

"It was cold, and I-I just thought..." She trailed off, and then her voice dropped to a whisper, "I didn't intend... I didn't mean..."

He nodded slightly, as if he found that as a reasonable excuse. She relaxed a little, but wriggled her body to get from beneath his massive weight. Suddenly, she noticed his head started to dip, and she was struck frozen. The anger in his eyes seemed to have melted away, and a heavy look of pure male lust replaced it. His face inched closer to hers, as she was paralyzed in fear and confusion. _Wasn't he just furious with me a few seconds ago? _

Her heart raced beneath her chest, and tension pooled deep in her stomach. She should pull away, but she was afraid the anger would return. Would he be angry with her if she did? Her thoughts were too slow, as his lips finally met hers in a gentle brush before he pulled back. The brush brought a wave of curiosity through her, and she remained still. When he found that she didn't resist, he lowered his lips back to hers, giving her a longer, smoother kiss.

Her body surprised her, as she felt white-hot electricity shoot strait to her head and that pit-deep ache in her stomach began to burn. She was powerless at this point, with every intention of moving, but no part of her body that would obey her mind. Instead, her body deceived her further, as she hesitantly kissed him back. He seemed to like her response, as he kissed her again with that same sweet kiss. His hands moved from her wrists, as one went to her cheek. His fingers cupping beneath her head and neck, his thumb stroking her smooth cheek.

The other hand snaked around her, supporting the small of her back and pulling her closer to his body. Her hands found their way on either side of his shoulders, and heard her sigh a little. She felt a deep rumble from his chest vibrating into her own, as he dove his head into her thin neck. He sought out the sensitive spots, kissing and nipping. When he found a spot, she jerked beneath him as he flicked his tongue against it.

The feel of her under his body felt so right. Like this little body of hers was made just for him, and him alone. He felt his loins pulse harder at the feel of her legs apart for him, and he made himself comfortable, pressing his member into her warm woman's core. She gasped at the intimacy of the act, arching herself to him in surprise and a hint of fear. He groaned at her response, as her mounds of soft flesh pressed into his chest.

"G-galen," she whispered hesitantly, her body and hands shifting so her palms were against his chest. He was still trailing kisses along her neck, making his way to an exposed clavicle. Doubt crept through her veins, as it spread quickly throughout her body. She pushed against him, but the resistance of a few hundred pounds of lean muscle proved to be too much for her. Lazily, his head rose from her, his eyes drunk with hunger.

"Galen," she whispered again, her eyes wide in fear.

When he recognized the hesitation in her face, he knew he had to stop. His body cursed him, as it ached with need, but he sat back on his heels. Marcail felt fresh air rush into her lungs as she pushed herself off of the bed, and swung her legs over. She shivered as she glanced at him, but jumped to her feet before he could get a word in and rushed to the door. He turned to say something, anything, but the door quickly shut behind her, as tiny footsteps were heard scurrying away. He cursed himself and buried his forehead in his palm.

.

The next morning, Galen paced the upper deck of the ship, waiting to run into Marcail. He had spent a good portion of the night searching for her to try and apologize. Yet, she disappeared. He couldn't find her below decks, and she also hadn't been in the room. He cursed himself, looking up to the blue sky. It was a clear day, with the ocean breeze strong enough to fill the sails and carry them on the water. He hoped that it would tempt the blood elf to surface.

He knew he needed to apologize for losing his temper, and losing control of his lust. That night, she had looked so vulnerable and so innocent, he couldn't resist a sample of the honey-blonde haired female. He had been pleasantly surprised when she responded to his advances, and also immensely aroused. He almost groaned in remembrance of the heated kiss they shared.

Galen's memory was halted when he heard familiar light footsteps on the wooden deck. Looking to his side, he saw the familiar face of the delicate blood elf. Her hair was resting at her shoulders, her bangs parted over one side of her face, covering one of her emerald eyes. She looked up at him, a gaze with wonder and vigilance. Her guarded posture proved to him she was still distrustful of his actions from the night before. However, with all of these mixed signals she was sending him, he was relieved she came to him.

"I wondered where you went off to, I was getting worried." Galen stepped closer to her.

"I needed to be alone," she answered, meeting his gaze, but not retreating. Silence fell on the couple, as each of them waited for the other to speak up. Then, the both started at the same time.

"I wanted to-" Marcail began, as Galen said, "Let me first say-" They both paused, waiting for the other to speak.

"You go first," Galen nodded.

"No, I'm sorry. I interrupted." She shook her head, her hair fanning around her as she did.

"Marcail, I wanted to apologize for last night. I lost my temper, and you didn't deserve it. I should have guarded the gem more carefully, especially because you are missing your magic." He began, feeling more guilty admitting these feelings. A small smile formed on her pretty lips. He briefly thought of kissing those lips again, her smile brought out a gentle and light feeling inside him, and he found that he slightly enjoyed that.

"I wanted to apologize for letting my arcane-thirsty nature get the best of me." Her smile faded, and Galen felt his own smile disappear. Funny, he didn't even know he was smiling. "It's a terrible feeling, knowing I will always have this curse." She blew out a short breath through her nose.

"Yes, it seems to really plague your thoughts," his brows furrowed. "Would you like some time to meditate?" She shook her head.

"I found a small area below and got in an hour this morning." She explained.

"That's strange, I couldn't find you anywhere," he tilted his head a little, and her smile returned.

"I didn't realize you were that worried."

"What? Oh, no I-" His eyes widened, not knowing the correct words to say. Suddenly, he became a blubbering idiot and he cursed himself for it. "I mean, I didn't-" She giggled a little, but tried to hide it with a cough as she looked to the ground. She was very pretty already, but he was really taken by her beauty when she smiled. He hadn't really seen her smile, but then again he never really gave her a reason to.

"What I meant to say was that I was looking for you to apologize to you." He finally found words to say to her. "I wanted to apologize for my temper, and also I wanted to apologize for my advances." She looked at him with confusion.

"Advances?" She asked. Galen fought the feeling to roll his eyes. Did she really not remember?

"When I kissed you," he explained, "on the bed last night." Suddenly, her face went bright red and her eyes flew open with surprise. Ah, so she did remember!

"O-oh. T-that." She fumbled with her skirts and looked away. "I-I forgive you."

"Are you okay?" He asked her, raising a deep blue eyebrow.

"I'm fine," she faced him, as she tried to control her actions. Galen wanted to smile when he realized she was nervous about the conversation.

"Are you hungry at all? I have some bread and cheese from this morning." He motioned his open hand to the room they were staying in.

"Actually, I'm famished." She explained, with a light smile. He gestured to the door to the lower decks, and she went first, with him guiding her by placing his hand at the small of her back.

..

..

_Author's Note_

_To my past viewer who pointed out my spelling error with Darnassus: thank you so much for noticing that and bringing it to my attention. My husband works as an EMT in a town called "Manassas", so that's where I kept messing up! I'm sorry, and will try to edit that as soon as I can!_

_On another note, I've been getting some complaints on my update speed. I'm sorry, and I hate to be that author that leaves stories undone, because I've been the victim of that quite regularly. I'll try to be faster, but writer's block does get the best of me at times. I've written about 80 pages so far, but it's pieces of a story, so I have to go back in and add the ties when I'm feeling creative. But I don't plan on giving up this story, I am going to continue this! Bear with me!_


	9. Chapter 9

Sarah and Darrick were both standing in the inn where they had seen Galen last. Marcail had disappeared, too. Though they both came to the suspicion that they both had something to do with the recent massive death count. Though, they didn't report anything to the Ironforge law enforcers. The official story had been a mass murderer that was loose on the streets, and a new curfew was posted until the murderer was caught.

"If this had something to do with Marcail," Sarah bent under a table, searching for clues. "Then maybe he killed her."

"Galen wouldn't do that," Darrick searched behind the bar. "He would have told us if she were dead by now. And besides, he wanted her alive no matter the cost."

"What I don't understand is that I bonded her magic, and if she was still able to break free of it and use magic."

"I'm sure they will send us something, telling us where they went." The paladin looked over broken glasses and mugs. He was really hoping that Galen would know they would search here, and leave behind a note of some sort.

"If they went anywhere, they probably took the tram to Stormwind. It's the quickest way out of the city, and Galen wouldn't have to take her through the cold." She finally stood up, and dusted her hands off. "I don't think we should stay too much longer. My sleeping spell will only last so long on the two guards outside."

"If they went to Stormwind, why are we still looking for something that obviously isn't here?" Darrick came from behind the counter.

"Good question," she raised a chestnut eyebrow. "I say we find catch the tram and go home until he surfaces. I need to talk to some of my colleagues at the Slaughtered Lamb."

"That curse you performed on the blood elf," Darrick's eyebrows narrowed a little, "you have no idea what the side effects are."

"Which is why," Sarah huffed angrily, "I'm going to Stormwind. You can go search through your goody goody scrolls at the Chapel of Light, if you want. Or you can stay here. Either way, I'm going to find a way to fix it with my magic." She stomped past him to the door and Darrick rolled his eyes, but followed her anyway.

.

The afternoon seemed to crawl by, as Marcail stared out of the porthole, sitting on the bed again. Galen was at the desk shuffling a deck of cards from his possession, and the amulet with the magic gem had been tucked under his cloth tunic, just to eliminate the temptation. His gaze kept traveling back to the pretty blood elf, her ankles crossed and hugging her knees to her chest. Her face upturned to the sun coming in from the window. He had been thinking of ways to strike up a conversation for the past hour or so, but every time he came up with a good topic, he was met with disinterest. Usually, he didn't have a care as to striking up meaningful exchange with a female, it always seemed to come naturally to him.

He had tried asking her about her professions, for most night elves were very crafty and proud of their work. This led nowhere, as she stated she didn't know any. When he asked her why, she simply shrugged and said she belonged to one of the most influential and wealthy families of Silvermoon, so there was no reason to have one. He tried asking about her family, if she had brothers or sisters. She had shrugged him off, saying that he knew her general background, and knew she had a younger brother. This wasn't going anywhere fast, and there was still a day and a half of time on the boat to kill.

"So, Marcail," he tried again, still shuffling his cards, "do you know any card games?" She turned, a quizzical expression on her face.

"Card games?" Her nose wrinkled and her voice cracked.

"If you don't know any, you can just say so," he gave her an enticing grin, it brought anger in her veins. Her brows lowered and her lips pursed. "I might know of one," she admitted, trying to appear calm and cool after that embarrassing voice inflection.

"Well then, maybe you can teach me," the night elf rose from the desk, bringing the chair along with him. He sat in front of her and handed the mage his deck of cards. She carefully took them in her hands and looked through the stack. Admittedly, she never really played with the sinful objects that attracted drunkenness and gambling. Lesser people of lesser values would gamble away life debts and agree to outlandish dares while playing with these simple pieces of thick parchment. Her parents kept her away from that sort of life and lectured to her and her brother that card playing and gambling were only for the weak minded. But they couldn't shelter her forever. When she was on the road and in Northrend, she learned a few tricks on her own from watching and observing others, from a safe distance.

Tucking a loose lock of dark blonde hair behind her elvish ear, she started laying out a triangle of cards, face down. Four on the bottom, three one row up, then two, then one. She divided the remaining cards and gave him half. She turned one of the cards on the bottom corner facing up. Quickly, she explained the rules, only using seven cards at a time, and only drawing from the pile that was given to you.

"Just match up the cards with whatever is in your hand," her lips curled, "if you can."

"So, you haven't said what the stakes are." He raised an eyebrow, suggestively.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what do I get if I win?" He challenged.

"Respect, I guess," she shrugged, eyeing him cautiously.

"No, that's not good enough," Galen leaned back in his chair and looked to the ceiling with a hand on his chin. He thought for a moment and finally said, "Winner of each round gets to ask a question, loser has to answer it no matter if they don't want to."

Marcail swallowed hard. This was dangerous territory she was walking into, and she should probably just put down the cards now and go find something else to do. Something else to occupy herself for the next two days. But looking into his smug and devilishly handsome face, she didn't want to back down in that moment.

"I guess I'm in," she nodded. A wolfish smile formed on Galen's face.

"Excellent." He replied, putting down the first card.

Marcail looked through her cards, and put down one of hers. He returned with another card, and she followed suit. The flicking of cards whispered in the air as they were placed on the bed over other ones. After a few more rounds, Galen finally gained the upper-hand. Then, Marcail realized she was out of playable cards. She laid her cards out face-up to show the warrior her pitiful defeat.

"Well," he flashed her another charming smile her way, "it looks like you lose this round."

"Yes, so let's not be a sore winner about it and just get on with the question." Her eyes rolled in annoyance. Galen pretended to look hurt, as he clapped a hand over his large chest.

"Ouch." He smiled and was surprised to see that she didn't try and accuse him of cheating or try to get out of the deal. Most Horde members he made bets with never turned out well. He thought of a worthy question and decided to go back to her family.

"Tell me about your family. What's your brother like?"

"The first one wasn't a question. The answer to the second one, he's just like any other blood elf mage." She replied, curtly. When she was met with a condescending gaze, she continued, sighing, knowing she couldn't back down on her promise. "My younger brother's name is Hayden. He looks very similar to me. If you met him on the streets today, you would instantly realize the resemblance between us. He and I could pass as twins when we were toddlers."

"Only one sibling?" Galen sounded a little surprised.

"Yes," she peered over her newly drawn fanned cards at him. "You find this odd?"

"I do. I've never really seen a family that small before in Darnassus. I thought my family was small, and I have four younger sisters." Galen explained.

"Four?" Her eyes widened.

"I would have figured you would have more siblings if your bloodline is that important." He said.

Her nose twitched and then she turned over the next card on the bed, ending the discussion. Clearly, he had struck a nerve. She put one of hers down first, and they played the hand out until Galen won again. She huffed a little through her nostrils, but when the warrior observed her reaction, he chuckled, a deep rumbling in his large chest filling the room. "Is there a problem, Galen?" Marcail's unamused gaze only made him chuckle more.

"You're kind of cute when you get mad," he grinned. The familiar heat rose in her face, and she tried to look away. He had caught her off guard. No one had ever said that to her before.

"I-I'm not-" Galen interrupted before she could bring her defenses to him.

"Okay, my next question is, why did you stay in Northrend so long? Arthas has been dead for a few good months now. Yet, you remained. Why?" He asked, and she inhaled deeply, as if she were gathering her swarming thoughts.

"I enjoyed my time in Northrend. Cleaning up the Scourge forces is something I'm good at." She wanted to tell him a little more, to explain why she had avoided returning to Silvermoon, but she was still unsure about opening up to her captor. The lines between harmless information and too much information were still blurry.

Things could be worse, he could have put her in a crate instead of letting her wander and stretch her legs about the ship. He struggled with his temper, but when it got the best of him, he apologized. The cuffs to her head had also ended long ago. It was strange, and their relationship had changed. He was no longer the uncivilized night elf, he had become someone who had protected her. He even protected her against Kael'Thas, by pulling her out of her mana-thirsty craze back in Ironforge. Could she really even fathom the thought of trusting him?

"Marcail?" His voice brought her out of her daze.

"Oh," she said dumbly, "yes?"

"I asked you to continue."

"Oh," she paused and replayed the past few words they exchanged. "Oh yes, I said I stayed in Northrend because I wanted to kill more Scourge. So many of my people were hurt by the Burning Legion and their forces when they came to Silvermoon, and I felt like I was doing something good. I know Icecrown won't ever eradicate the Scourge, but if we weaken their forces from where they are coming from, perhaps we can better protect our home cities from future attacks."

"I heard that Silvermoon was hit hard when Arthas came through," he nodded. "Why didn't you go there?" She shook her head.

"That's two questions. You have to win another round if you want me to answer that," she raised an eyebrow, and then she turned over the next card.

"Fair enough," he gave her a half smile, as he put down his choice of card.

Marcail searched through her own, and played her suit safely. She had drawn a card she hoped she could win with, but Galen had beaten her twice already. They matched each other's game for a few more rounds, before the warrior put his cards down on the bed.

"Fold," he shrugged. The mage grinned in response to his disappointed attitude.

"So, I get to ask a question," she tested.

"Yes."

"And you have to answer it no matter what?" She grinned wider, enjoying the power over her captor.

"Yes, yes, it's what we agreed on, and I've already forced you to answer mine." he waved his hand, but smiling anyway in good spirits.

"Okay, then," she looked to the ceiling to try and think, as she tapped a fingernail on her teeth. "So you said you had four sisters." She met his gaze.

"I do."

"What are they like?" She asked. When he gave her a strange look, she fumbled with her hands, trying to explain. "I've never really had a sister before, and I always wondered what it would be like. Hayden left home once he was of age, leaving me with the responsibility to make sure our parents were happy and safe. So, I guess I just want to know what it's like, even if it's not from my own eyes."

"Very well," he nodded, and leaned back in his chair to begin the story. "Let's see, well I am the oldest, and Darine is second born. She's a warrior, like our father and I, but she is still behind me in rank. She tends to be fierce and determined, even if it gets her in trouble. Darine is also very hot-headed and she still has much to learn about controlling her rage." Marcail met him with a sly stare, and he gave her a knowing grin.

"Yes, she and I share that in common. Next, there's Isla, and she's a druid with a knack for healing. She's very calm and level-headed, not at all like her older siblings. Isla is quiet and tends to keep to herself, but if you need help, she will always be there. Meluna is another druid, and she tends to be more wild and adventurous than her other sisters, and also tends to get into more trouble. Then, there's Lavena, the youngest. She's a priestess, and quite skilled even if her rank is low." He seemed to pause and reflect a little on his sister's character.

"Lavena is the baby," he continued, "but strangely I find myself learning from her at times. She can tell you the wisest things, you'd think she speaks from ancient texts. Her compassion and gentle nature is not of this world, I will tell you that."

"You speak so highly of her," Marcail tilted her head.

"I respect her," the warrior stated.

"I wish I could say the same for my brother," sorrow crept on her features and she continued. "I respect him in a certain way, but I'm also angry at him for leaving our family behind. For leaving me behind. He was supposed to marry a respectable family with powerful arcane bloodlines, but when he left, the duty fell to me. Then, my family decided to turn me into their experiment. This whole thing has just gotten so out of hand." She put a hand to her temple.

She looked so withdrawn from the conversation, but no anger was displayed on her face. Galen leaned forward to put a hand on her shoulder, to bring her back, but once he made contact with her, she jumped.

"Oh, Sweet Sunwell! I didn't mean to speak so freely," she said, as her fingers came up to her temple, "I get carried away in my own thoughts, I apologize if I've said too much."

"It's fine," he tried to calm her, his deep, baritone voice giving her a center to hold on to.

His tone of voice was what relaxed her. In a few days, she had seen a such a shift from a weathered, stoic, and experienced war leader, to a gentle, surprisingly kind, elvish kin. Never mind the arcane politics between their races, he did have some redeemable qualities. Besides being so handsome.

"Thank you for telling me about your sisters," she said.

"I'm actually glad you asked," he ran a hand through his long, dark hair, "because our destination is my family's estate just outside of Darnassus."

"But, you said we were going to the city."

"Yes, I did say that. Well, it was partially true, because we have to pass through the city to get to Teldrassil. My family's estate lies a little more northwest. It's a lot safer and more retreated out there. No pesky alliance guards to meddle with my plans." He explained, rather proudly.

"That's a terrible idea! So instead of killing guards, I kill all those precious to you!" She exclaimed, throwing her hands up to make her point.

"That's the thing," he kept his calm nature over hers, "with my sisters and father there, you won't be able to take advantage of anyone. Everyone there can match your power and bring you back to this world."

"This is insane, Galen," her eyes narrowed. "Why even bother with this much trouble?"

His gaze grew more intense, as he stared into her deep green eyes. Gone was the gentle man a few moments ago, and the war veteran was back in his place.

"There are things at work here that you could not understand."

The chill in his voice struck fear into Marcail's heart. She leaned away from him, leaning on her palms, chest rising and falling quickly as she gauged whether to run or prepare to defend herself. Or just do neither. He studied her, as if a predator watching it's prey's last moments. Then his predatory eyes shifted, growing a little more cloudy, and they dipped down to her chest. He watched her tantalizing breasts rise and fall in front of him.

The air around them changed, and Marcail felt the hunger in his gaze rise. She fisted the quilt on the bed, as the tension had so rapidly changed between them, she felt she needed something to ground her to keep her mind her own. Here, this intensely powerful warrior stared at her like no other had before. She felt desired, wanted, even if the need dabbled in the dangerous and forbidden laws.

Then, something happened to bring the heat to a boil, as the too-big collar of the dress slipped, exposing a naked, creamy shoulder. His lips parted, grinding his teeth at the image. Marcail kept running back in forth in her mind, _pull it back up! _Screamed one side. _No! Leave it be! He might give you another one of those delicious kisses!_

The other part of her screamed back. _You idiot! Why do you want to tempt him further?_ Her tongue darted out and licked the rim of her lower lip, and she made the move to pull the collar back up. A large, strong hand grasped her wrist, and Galen was on his feet before her. One hand held himself up on the bed, and the other gripped her wrist. She felt her pulse race under his hand, and she swallowed hard, staring back into those intense golden eyes.

The warrior felt her fast heartbeat under his iron grip. All thoughts other than Marcail seemed to be far away and gone. Right now, he had her, alone, and all he had to do was start the fire for the inferno to come. He started leaning in, closing the gap between them until he was partially on the bed, hovering over her trembling body. Marcail closed her eyes and parted her lips for him, knowing what came next. As he grew closer, he froze with their lips millimeters apart.

"Stop me if you don't want this," he whispered breathlessly.

She heard the words he said, but she could only think of his close proximity, and the taste of him from the night before. The hovering was almost excruciating, as she wanted so badly to have him on her lips. The painfully exquisite tension proved too overwhelming for the mage, and she reacted by boldly pressed her head forward, stealing the kiss and surprising him. With her response, Galen gave a deep rumble from his chest, indicating his approval in her action. He climbed the rest of the way on the bed, with his arms wrapping around her, pulling her small figure into his own. The cards, long abandoned, fell to the floor.

A sharp inhale came from the mage, as her shy hands came to rest on his shoulders once again. He was so delicious, and he smelled even better. Of fresh soap and a little bit of his polish he used on his plate armor. Her head was spinning, but she found it so intoxicating as her heart beat harder against her ribs. His kisses set her senses ablaze with his strong lips, but he was being so gentle with his kiss. Galen allowed his hands to roam her slender back, pulling the collar down more so he could touch her warm, sensitive skin. His large hands were almost the size of her shoulders, and the warmth of them was like she was being touched by heaven itself. She couldn't get over how massive this male elf was, he was so different, but in such a sensual way it kept bringing this intense feeling, quivering deep in her core. His hands wandered down, softly letting his fingertips stroke her bare back, and a shiver wracked her body. She felt the gooseflesh grow over her skin, and the feeling washed over her body, and she felt her nipples pebble in the chill.

He nipped at her lower lip, and was rewarded with a soft sigh from her mouth. He took it as a good sign, and one of his hands drifted lazily up to her breast, to gently cup the fleshy mound. Marcail quickly inhaled through her teeth, hissing at the act. He kneaded the soft orb, and was glad to find that even though blood elves were small, Marcail's breasts were just the right size for his hand. He rolled a lightly calloused thumb over her hard nipple, and a feminine gasp came from her with the action. He used this opportunity to clamp down over her lips again, dipping his tongue into her delicious mouth. He was more demanding of her response with this kiss, as his need was being wound tighter with her exhilarating welcome responses to him.

He was already rewarded with so much, and he wanted more. He firmly grasped her luscious, tantalizing hips that had been swaying just out of reach a few hours ago, and yanked her body into his. A startled, and muffled squeak came from her as her body was suddenly melded to his, the curve of her breast, stomach, and woman's mound was suddenly all pressed into the few hundred pounds of searing night elf male hardness. The heat from his chest threatened to consume her, and she felt his strong heartbeat against her own soft chest. His hands molded her round and supple bottom, kneading and pulling and rocking her woman's core against his own thick arousal.

She sharply gasped, pulling away, as the act became too intimate to perform with him. Sliding her body down his thighs to the bed, and clapping her hands to her lips, her face warped in shock, confusion, and doubt. Immediately, Galen felt her fear spread into his chest. He backed up to give her some space, but then he instantly reached for her to try and comfort her.

"Marcail," he said, his face full of concern and remorse.

As his hands came to her shoulders, she squeezed her eyes shut and dodged them, scrambling to the door. She grabbed the handle and jerked the door open, only to have Galen behind her lean his weight into the door, slamming it shut.

"Marcail," he said again, his words suddenly grew soothing and settling.

She trembled against the wooden door, her hand still on the doorknob, not meeting his eyes or turning around. Her fear and confusion were overwhelming her, piercing through her chest at Galen's current actions, barring her from her exit. Still, if he wanted to assault her, he would have done so a few seconds ago. And without her magic, she wouldn't be able to do anything but comply and endure.

"I'm sorry," he tried again.

"No, don't apologize," she whispered. "Please don't take everything back." Her eyes briefly glanced over her exposed shoulder at him.

"Take what back?" He kept his lean on the door, trapping her from escaping.

"That," she sighed, trembling as small tears formed at the edge of her eyes. "Don't apologize and take it all back." Galen's golden eyes grew puzzled.

"You," he paused, "welcomed it?" She nodded. "Still?" She nodded again, sheepishly. He carefully moved his hand to her shoulder, where her breath hitched as she stared into his eyes. He gripped the cloth of her collar, and tugged it over her shoulder. He then removed his arm from the door and turned away from her, walking to the desk and hunching over it.

"I-I feel I should explain," she said, timidly.

"No you don't," he replied, his tone changed back to normal.

She winced at the lack of sensitivity in his voice. She suddenly felt rejected, her head falling to the ground and her shoulders slacking. She turned the knob on the door, but right before she left, she repeated his words to him in a soft, gentle voice.

"There are things at work here that you could not understand."

He lifted his head, but when he turned to her, she had already left through the door. He was left with the view of her back, and those soft deep honey-golden locks cascading down her shoulders as she closed the door behind her. It took every ounce of training and self restraint to not grab a sword and bring it down over the desk to splinter it to pieces.


	10. Chapter 10

It was Galen's turn to disappear for the rest of the day. The night elf stayed in the room, but Marcail made no move to try and approach him. She was not only ashamed of her actions, but she also feared the awkward encounter that was doomed to come. She instead stayed above deck, enjoying the afternoon sun on her back while leaning over the balcony on the bow of the ship. The salt spray from the waves below tickled her nose and she couldn't stop a small smile tugging at her lips, as she leaned further over the balcony, keeping a toe on the deck and holding on tightly to the rail.

The wind whipped through her hair, and the salty air misted her skin. She watched the breaking water as the ship sliced through the ocean and sighed happily. She gazed down into the depths of the ocean, wondering just how deep it was. Sometimes, she envied those who took the demonic path, for they knew a dark spell allowing them to breathe underwater. However, it was not worth the cost of opening that door. She teetered on the edge of the ship, too enthralled in the call of the sea to care about safety.

Part of her was shocked at how reckless she was being, for this was so unlike her. But another part of her, more primal and impulsive, was thrilled with her actions. She had devoured the kiss from her captor, and still savored it. Even if the tension between them at the moment was sour. Never in her life had she done something so impulsive, and it felt good. She teetered on the edge of the rail, playing by slightly hopping her feet off the deck, so she balanced her stomach on the side. She hummed a song to herself, still playing with chance, as she wobbled toward the ocean, then back to the deck of the ship.

Suddenly, she felt large arms wrapping tightly around her middle, as she was jerked back to the ship.

"What in hell are you doing, little girl?" Demanded a new, angry and masculine voice as he spun her around.

Marcail came face to face with a human man, dressed in a green vest over a long sleeve silk shirt. His dark hair whipped around his face as he stared at the crazy blood elf before him. The mage didn't understand a word the man was saying, but he obviously was displeased with her. She stared back at him, as he yelled at her in a scolding tone, as he gestured to the water and then back to her. In the corner of her eye, she saw a tale blood elf male walking toward them.

"Easy, Landerson," the elf said in Common. "I can handle this, go back to the quarter deck. The captain has need of you." The man grumbled as he walked away, muttering incoherently. The male elf turned to Marcail.

"I'm sorry if he frightened you, but Navigator Landerson might have just saved your life. What in the Light where you doing?" He said, in Thalassian.

Marcail stared at him, puzzled over why a blood elf would be on an Alliance ship.

"What is your house name, my brother?" She asked, gently. Perhaps he was banished.

"My house name?" He mirrored her confusion. The mage looked him over and suddenly noticed something she should have recognized instantly. The color of his eyes.

"Oh my, I'm so sorry," she put a hand to cover her lips. "I had you mistaken. You're not a blood elf."

"No," he relaxed. "No, I'm not."

"I thought high elves were supposed to be neutral in the war." She thought out loud, but suddenly felt like crawling into a hole and hiding there until the end of the trip. "I'm sorry," she squeezed her eyes shut. "That was rude." The high elf laughed a little in response.

"It is quite alright Miss-" he stopped himself, and looked inquisitive, as to encourage her to say her name. Marcail hesitated, for giving her real name could still be dangerous.

"Felynn," she lied.

"Miss Felynn." He finished. "I have met worse introductions in my service here. I am the first mate on this ship, and I happened to notice your predicament. I have been updated as to why a blood elf is on board," he raised a midnight black eyebrow at her, indicating he was suspicious. "So I will not question you. I will however ask you to not lean over the railing as you did, Miss Felynn, it is very dangerous."

"O-oh," she stammered, as a blush splashed over her cheeks. "I was just looking," she said, trying to not sound as dumb as she thought it sounded in her head. She grasped at the skirts of her dress and played with the fabric.

"That was what Navigator Landerson was trying to tell you, but I didn't think you spoke Common."

"I'm sorry, I won't cause any more trouble," she answered.

"It's quite alright, Miss Felynn," he nodded, "we hope you are comfortable here, on _The Bravery_." He started down to the main deck, as the mage looked after him.

Her parents were once high elves. She was a high elf when she was a child, too. When the Scourge wiped out such a large portion of her people, her family was one to side with the memory of the fallen, and with Kael'Thas. Most blood elves siphon mana, and high elves practice meditation to deal with their addiction. She might still be a high elf today, had she been born into another family. Instead, her people put their trust in Kael'Thas and finding other sources of arcane energy. If she were a high elf, would she have sided with the Alliance? Would she have met Galen on better circumstances?

She shook her head, bringing herself back into the world of reality. She couldn't change who she was anymore than she could change her blood. Instead of engaging in reckless thrill-seeking activities, she decided to stroll around the ship. _Coward_, the part of herself that was wild and begging to be unleashed spat at her. She shrugged it off, and held her head high. She was more level-headed than that, a role model of the aristocracy she had been bred into. If she abandoned her responsibilities like her brother, there would be no one left to hold up the Dawnfires. She was a dying breed, and she needed to protect her life and get back home to uphold that responsibility.

However, the wild part of her ego cried out at the thought. It struggled to gain control of her again, but she pushed it aside. Just as she had been doing for most of her life. She had a promise to uphold to her people, and she couldn't afford to be selfish.

.

The afternoon sun had faded, as Marcail looked to the horizon to see it sink beneath the sea in a bright orange and pink glow. She leaned on the railing, with the entire afternoon gone, she could almost check off another day stuck on the small ship. She was worried about getting off of the ship, which is why she was spending her time in the sun, trying to just enjoy each minute by being alone. Since she had no idea what was waiting for her at Teldrassil, she decided that being bored on the ship was much better than not knowing what was coming next.

She was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching behind her. Whirling around with her back to the sea, but still keeping a bracing grip on the railing behind her, she saw the high elf with a polite smile on his face.

"I'm sorry if I startled you," he began, "but the captain would like for you two to meet in the captain's dining quarters."

"Dining quarters?" She knitted her brows together in distrust. "You can tell him that I am not dressed properly for such a formal affair. I must decline."

"Actually, the captain is a 'her', and she would like you to come anyway." He explained. The mage's eyes widened, as she realized that Galen had spent time drinking liquor in the presence of a female. She shocked herself that this was the first thing she thought of. She assured herself she was just surprised that no one had told her before, and she could care less if Galen had spent the whole night drinking with the woman. If he wanted to give his attention to someone else, it wouldn't bother her a bit. She wouldn't allow it. She couldn't allow it.

"Very well, take me to the dining quarters." The blood elf let go of the railing, and saw that her knuckles were changing colors, from white back to her normal skin tone. She didn't even realize she was grasping the rail that tight. The first mate nodded to her.

"Follow me, Miss Felynn," he said, leading the way to the back of the boat. She was really beginning to hate that name. He took her in the center door and then up a small set of stairs. The first mate then knocked on a wooden door and waited to be invited in. When he was, he opened the door and held it for Marcail and she entered a well sized room, with a long dining table littered with wondrous dishes, with a turkey centered right in the middle. The sights and smell alone caused her mouth to water.

"Welcome, Marcail Dawnfire," the woman sitting at the head of the table said in Orcish. She was immediately curious as to how she knew the language of the Horde, but didn't want to press. Then, she remembered she had just been exposed to the high elf. She glanced at him sheepishly.

"I understand, Miss Marcail. With a last name like that, I would be cautious to reveal my true identity as well." He slightly tipped his head. A wave of graciousness rushed over her, as she gave him a thankful smile.

"Come, sit beside me," the human pipped up again, as she scooted the chair to the right of her from underneath the table. The mage looked back to the human, and gave a polite smile. The Captain had shoulder length dark hair to match her first mate's, but she had a tanned, olive colored complexion from all the years she spent out on the sea.

"Thank you for the cordial invitation, Captain." The mage went to sit in the ornately carved chair. She sat down, along with the captain, and she noticed the comfortable padding on the seat.

"You're welcome, kitten." The female captain shot her a smirk. Suddenly, the mage felt unwelcome. The high elf closed the door behind him as he left. Marcail felt the urge to flee the room, the ship, and get away from this.

"You seem tense," the human tilted her head. "Relax, kitten, I'm not going to hurt you." She said as she passed a goblet of wine to her guest.

"Thank you," she hesitantly accepted the goblet.

"I just wanted to meet the blood elf that's been roaming around my ship all day." The Captain yanked off a drumstick from the roasted turkey in the center , and dragged it to her own dish.

"Oh, yes. I guess I've been quite a bother-"

"This is a passenger ship." She interrupted. "You aren't bothering anyone."

"Well, then," she nodded, sipping some of the wine.

"Yes, you're fine. So tell me, what brings a Dawnfire all the way out to an Alliance passenger ship with the famous womanizer, Galen Moonblade? You his new courtesan or something?" Marcail choked on her wine, astounded at the coarseness of the Captain. She set down her goblet and continued to cough, until she finally settled down.

"Sweet Sunwell! How could you ask such a question?" The flush on the pale blood elf's cheeks matched the wine.

"I was just curious," she shrugged, giving the blood elf a goblet of water. Marcail accepted it and sipped on it.

"Can't you ask a more appropriate question?"

"I don't like beating around the bush, I prefer the more direct approach," the Captain grinned, tossing her black bangs out of her face with a quick movement of her hair. "Galen did say you were a bit too proper."

"Excuse me?"

"Galen said you were too proper," the Captain repeated.

"What in Azeroth-" she began, rising from her seat, "how dare you question my virtue, to only turn around and insult my personality! You know nothing of me!" The Captain's demeanor faded, and she rose from her seat, only to go to Marcail to try to calm her down.

"I didn't mean nothin by it, kitten," she said, settling the girl back down in her chair. "I wanted to chat, not to argue." She turned and settled in her own chair. "Please, help yourself to anything you see on this table." The blood elf's nose twitched, as she was still a little ruffled with the crassness of the human, but she hadn't had anything real to eat in about a week. She quickly started stacking an amount of food that would make a tauren think twice.

"Careful, kitten," the Captain protested, "I've heard you're just getting over a terrible sickness. You might wanna take it slow." Marcail eyed her, but couldn't help but agree that too much rich food would easily send her running for the railing.

"Since we didn't get off on the right foot, how about we start over," the Captain offered. The mage nodded, gently. "Okay, how about I tell you a bit about myself so we aren't strangers anymore?" She was met with another gentle nod, as the mage ate slowly. "Well, my name is Angelina Soluna, and as you can see, I'm a captain of _The Bravery_, a passenger ship from Stormwind to Auberdine. I've been sailing ever since my father taught me when I was a child, and I love it. My strengths are cooking, dancing, and, of course, sailing, and my weaknesses are clearly social situations," she offered a smile.

"Angelina," the blood elf echoed.

"Yup."

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"I'll answer yours if you answer mine," Angelina offered. The mage mulled it over for a few seconds.

"That seems fair." Marcail replied.

"Okay, you go first."

"How can you speak Orcish so well?" The Captain laughed, and popped a handful of grapes in her mouth, chewing on them loudly. She threw a leg over the armrest on her chair and leaned back in her chair.

"That is a strange talent, one I very rarely share with people, but since I know your secret, I assume you will keep mine." She eyed the mage. "My father was a pirate, with the Bloodsail Buccaneers until his death. He dealt with both Horde and Alliance alike, and I helped him with deliveries. In my youth, I commanded one of my father's ships for pirate business. When I was raiding an offshore Alliance ship, I was in a heated battle with a tough-as-nails admiral. But to make a long story short, we both ended up sinking each others ships. While we watched our ships burn and gathered our men, we called a truce to get to shore. There, he offered me to work for the Alliance military as a Captain of one of his ships. It took a lot of persuasion, mostly with coin, but I finally accepted. After working there for a while, I decided that I wanted something slower. So that's why I'm here."

"Wow," the blood elf had been hanging on to her every word. "That sounds like an exciting life."

"I'd say I've lived a full life if I died tomorrow." She grinned, downing her goblet of wine. The blood elf wished she could say the same. Here, before her, was someone who was living out her dreams, while she did not.

"Was your father angry with you when you joined the Alliance?"

"Angry? It went further than anger, for the bloody man made it his life goal to kill me after that."

"What?"

"He searched for only the ships I was commanding, and then he would launch an all-out attack on my ship. He almost got me a couple of times, stubborn man would board my ship and directly come for me. That's how I got this," she tilted her head and showed a deep scar that went from her ear to her jawbone. "Bloody man was gonna cut my throat." Marcail's blatant horror across her pretty face brought the Captain to smile. "Don't worry, I'll give you a spoiler to the story. I lived." She smirked.

"Yes, I see that, but how?"

"Well, I was able to reach my pistol in time to stop him."

"What?" The blood elf was incredulous. "You killed your own father?"

"It was kill or be killed, kitten. You gonna drink that?" She motioned to the mage's goblet. When she shook her head, the Captain snatched it up and took a long drink from it.

"I'm so sorry," the mage whispered.

"Ah, I don't need your pity," Angelina waved her hand as she stood up and went to go dig around in the liquor cabinet next to her.

"I'm not pitying you. I'm just saying I don't know what I would do with all that pain. You're remarkably strong." The mage felt pinpricks on the tip of her nose, and she bit back the urge to cry. Someone who had lived a tough life that she knew nothing of, yet this person was functioning better than she. Suddenly, the dark-haired human stopped rummaging around and looked up from her crouched position to the mage's face. A look of wonder reflected in her face.

"I can see why Galen likes you." She said, as she selected a bottle of brown liquid and brought it to the table.

"W-what?" The mage stammered, as her thoughts of Angelina's family relations suddenly dropped from her mind. "Are you kidding me? He hates me. All he does is yell at me."

"On the contrary, kitten, there is a fine line between love and hate," the Captain smiled, as she poured some of the brown liquid into the two empty wine glasses. She pushed one forward to the mage and held it up. "Toast with me," she said, as the blood elf complied, raising the other glass.

"Here's to men. The sorry slop of them all," she cackled, and then threw back the liquor. The mage just watched, and when the goblet reached the table, Angelina gave her a look. "Your turn, kitten." Marcail hesitantly sniffed the liquid, before she shrugged and imitated what the Captain did. When she set the goblet down, suddenly intense pain shot through her throat as she coughed.

"There ya go, it does a soul good." The human smiled as she poured second servings of the liquid.

"What are you doing? That hurt like fire! I don't want more!"

"Trust me, kitten, you need it more than I do."

"What are you talking about?"

"Another toast!" She declared, pushing a goblet to Marcail. "You do this one." As she picked up her glass, she was baffled.

"What do you want me to say?" The mage asked, clearly confused, as she took a sip of water.

"You say something like, 'here's to beautiful arses' or whatever you want it to be," she smiled, and the blood elf immediately spewed water across the table and clamped her hand over her mouth.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered.

"Don't be," Angelina waved at her in laughter, entertained with the innocent vixen. "Go on, make your toast."

"Um," she began, putting a finger to her lips, as she thought of a worthy statement. "Here's to taking a chance and trusting a complete stranger." She raised her glass, and the Captain followed, nodding in approval. They threw back the liquid at the same time. This time, it didn't burn as bad as the first one did.

"So you asked me a few questions, there, kitten."

"Why do you keep calling me 'kitten'?"

"Oh, I give nicknames to everybody. 'Kitten' is yours since you came in here looking so vulnerable. Now, it's my turn to ask."

"Okay, go ahead." The blood elf dismissed the 'vulnerable' comment in her mind.

"How do you know Galen?"

"Um, I'm not sure he'd want me to answer that."

"He told me you two were lovers, and he was taking you to his family's estate in Teldrassil so you could live there without being persecuted by your people. I told him horseshit, and he still stuck to that story." The mage's jaw dropped and her brows lowered.

"Only one part of that is true, he's taking me to Teldrassil." She tossed her hair.

"Sounds like there's a story," the Captain said, as she started to pour more liquor.

"Are we going to toast?" Angelina looked right at her, and pointed.

"You got it," she said with a grin. They raised their glasses, and then Angelina spoke. "Here's to the truth. Sooner or later, the truth gets out." They both drank down the liquor.

"I for one, hate lying," the mage admitted. "I'm terrible at it, and my whole family knows it."

"So go on then, continue the story. I told you mine."

"How do I know you're not going to tell the Alliance authorities?"

"You don't," she shrugged and winked, "but take a chance with a stranger. Sometimes, they're more trustworthy than your own flesh and blood." The mage sighed.

"Well, he actually kidnapped me on my wedding day in Silvermoon." It was the Captain's turn to drop her jaw. "Yes, it was a horrible scene. His ragtag friends and he were able to breach the lines and find me, easily. I was wounded so I didn't get to see if my friends and family are even alive. When I woke up, I was in a strange camp with them, so when I saw that they were distracted, I ran for it."

"Kitten, it sounds like you've got your own set of horrible problems."

"Oh, I haven't even gotten to the part when he had his warlock friend perform a spell, that's illegal even in the dark arts. The spell took away my magic and locked it in a necklace. Apparently, only Galen is the only one other than me that can touch it." Before the mage knew it, the Captain was already pouring them more mouthfuls of that burning liquid.

"What's our toast this time?" Asked the mage.

"No toast, just drink it." Marcail obliged, and as soon as she swallowed the liquid, she noticed that the ship was driving erratically, as the boat rocked. She felt herself relax, and venting to Angelina seemed almost therapeutic.

"He also almost killed me, you know. He dragged me through the Wetlands, in nothing but my wedding gown, and then took me to Ironforge right after. I almost died from hypothermia. I was so sick after that. You wouldn't believe it, I had never been this sick before in my life." She stopped when she got to the part about killing the gnomes and dwarves for arcane energy, because that was really way too much information. "So, I got better and now he says he's going to keep me at his family estate while he waits for the ransom money to come through from my fiance."

"He's holding you ransom? For how much?"

"I haven't a clue. He won't tell me anything." She shook her head, and before she knew it, there was more of the alcohol in front of her. Marcail didn't even ask this time, she just gulped it.

"Oh, kitten. And I thought my life was complicated. I bet you've been terrified this whole time."

"Well, for the most of it. There came a time when I was ready to die."

"That's not gonna come to you on this ship. I guarantee all my passengers a safe voyage on my ship."

"Can you talk to Galen for me?" She asked sheepishly, a little embarrassed.

"What?" The Captain was taken aback. "What for?"

"I've just never seen one with a temper like his before. It honestly scares me, and I just want him to control it better." She admitted, sadly. The Captain just stared back at her.

"You haven't learned how to shut him up yet?"

"What? How do you do that?"

"You distract him with your charms," she smiled. The mage's eyes grew wide.

"No!" She shook her head. "Anything but that."

"Yes! Trust me, he can't think of anything else when you get him going." She laughed, while Marcail processed what she just said. It hit her like a ship would hit a reef.

"Sweet Sunwell! You and him!" She gasped as her cheeks flushed.

The good natured captain just gave another one of her laughs. The mage put a hand to her clavicle, suddenly thinking of Angelina and Galen engaging in carnal acts right above her the night before. A twinge of betrayal pricked at her and the color rose to her face. She dropped her head to her hands to try and cover up the blushing. It didn't work, however, for she even her ears grew hot.

"Don't worry about it, we've been long done with each other." She smiled. "He's all yours, kitten."

"I don't want him!" She shouted, but knew that couldn't be any further from the truth.

"Well, what do you want then?" Angelina asked. The room grew silent as the open ocean on a clear night. Finally, the blood elf raised her head, and gave a goofy smile.

"I want another one of those drinks."

"Done and done," the Captain answered her and poured them more of the liquid.

.

Galen was growing hungry, waiting for Marcail. The sun had long set, but the mage hadn't returned to the room. He tried to tell himself she was still wondering around the ship, and she was fine, but he couldn't stop the aching feeling to know where she was. He finally emerged from the room, wondering if she was still avoiding him from their encounter early that afternoon. When he walked to the deck, he noticed that Angelina wasn't at the quarter deck, steering her ship, but her first mate was. Maybe the mage had spoken to him, he figured, if she wanted to talk to anyone on the ship, a high elf would be the most agreeable company. He felt the same prickling feeling that he felt when he would watch Darrick and Marcail bonding. He trudged up the steps, a little angrier than he intended, and was stopped by the navigator.

"What is your business here, night elf?" The navigator asked.

"I need to speak with First Mate Wavesinger," the night elf stretched out to his full height to intimidate the navigator.

"I'm afraid he's busy trying to get us safely to Auberdine." The man narrowed his eyes.

"Landerson!" The high elf called out. "Galen is a personal friend of the captain. She said to ensure that his needs were met." The navigator gritted his teeth and clenched his fists.

"Right this way, then." He forced out, as he still glowered at the night elf. He shrugged the navigator's disrespect off, and went to the first mate.

"Alright, where did she go?" Galen demanded.

"Where did who go, Galen?" The first mate kept his watch on the horizon and his hand at the rudder wheel.

"You know exactly who I'm talking about. The only blood elf on board this ship."

"There is no need for rudeness," the high elf glanced at him. "Your sarcasm and demeanor will not intimidate me."

"For the sweet love of Elune, just tell me where she is!" He demanded. The silence that fell between them was not very reassuring, so the warrior scoffed, turning on his heel to go look for the mage himself.

"You will find whom you seek in the Captain's Dining Quarters." The high elf finally replied.

"Thank you," the warrior muttered over his shoulder, as he went strait to Angelina's dining room on the ship. What compelled Marcail to seek out Angelina? His instincts told him to be cautious, he could be headed into a room where a fight of alliances had broken out, or worse. He quickly walked up the steps to the dining room, and threw open the door. He gawked at the performance before him. The two women were dancing, actually _dancing,_ with each other and giggling uncontrollably.

"What in holy hell is going on in here?" Galen demanded, as the women finally took a notice to him, and burst into laughter. Marcail fell to the floor in laughter, sitting in the center of the room as the human laughed harder.

"She was teaching me the Silvermoon Waltz. It's a lot of fun!" The dark haired female announced, slurring her words a little.

"You two," he started, shocked at the blood elf more than anything, "are both drunk!"

"Yeah? And you aren't!" The mage shouted and pointed an accusing finger at him, bursting into more laughter and fell back. The human was laughing, too.

"What's so damned funny about that?" He demanded.

"You know, Galen, I have to hand it to you. This girl is a lot of fun." The captain smiled. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Marcail, fun?

"I don't think she's ever had a drop of alcohol in her life," the night elf scolded, as he went to the blood elf sprawled on her back on the floor.

"So she's living a little, don't take that away from her."

"Why did she come here?" He asked as he knelt down beside the mage and tried to gather her up in his arms, but she lazily batted at them.

"I asked her here to see if you two really were lovers."

"Elune, I wish you were less blunt."

"Oh yeah, and she knows about us."

"What?!" The night elf suddenly felt the rush of rage in his veins.

"I wasn't going to lie to her. If you're trying to have a life with her, you're going to have to tell her about your past." The captain sighed.

"Angelina," he hissed, his tone boiling with seething acid. "If you weren't my friend I could kill you."

"You listen here, rake, I'm only gonna say this once," she stood up, speaking to him with all of her years of commanding ships and leading. "You be good to this girl and don't hurt her." The fire in her brown eyes showed just how much she meant what she said. The night elf scowled, and turned back to the mage, who was off in her own world, staring at the ceiling, mumbling about how the first mate couldn't steer a ship and the approaching storm was making it hard to stand up.

"I didn't think you would be this interested in my affairs."

"I was curious," she flashed him an impish smile. "Then I discovered your next paycheck has a good heart." He growled in response. "Good night, you two," the captain rose and left the dining room.

"Let's go, Marcail," he murmured to her, as he gently scooped her up into his arms. Her arms instinctively went around his neck, as she buried her face there, breathing in the masculine smell that was him.

"I like Angelina," she stated, surprising the night elf.

"You do?"

"Yes, she's really strong and has the guts to go after what she wants."

"She is like that, isn't she?" A small smile formed on Galen's lips. He felt fingers prodding at his neck.

"Why are you blue?" She asked.

"What? What kind of question is that?"

"And why do you have such big muscles?" She demanded, now squeezing at his biceps. He took her downstairs, pulling her head in closer so she wouldn't hit her head on the doorway. He did it again when he opened the door to their room. He walked in and settled her down on the bed.

"Why did you take me?" She asked, her eyes filled with sorrow, brought on by drink.

"You've had too much drink, I'm afraid. You should get some rest." He started to stand up, uncomfortable with her question and the current state she was in. When she cried out, and he was instantly back at her side.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Please, don't leave. I'm frightened," she admitted, tears threatening to emerge as she grasped at his arm with her fingers. Her hand couldn't wrap around his forearm, but her touch was so pleasurable.

"Why are you frightened?" Galen asked, reaching for her forehead. He stroked her hair, trying to calm her down. She was trembling and he felt the nagging sensation of concern for her.

"Kael'Thas," she whispered. The warrior sighed and smiled kindly.

"Don't worry, I won't let him take control." He assured her.

"Promise?" He felt a smile creep up on him, as her childlike quality of trust in him had him humbled.

"I promise."

"You'll stay here all night?"

"All night," he echoed. He saw her face relax, and she lay back down on the bed. He leaned up against the wall behind him, as she turned over and put a hand on his shoulder, to reassure herself that he was there. She let herself drift off to sleep, as she let herself forget who she was for a few hours. She was just an ordinary person for that night. It had felt great.

..

..

_Thanks for bearing with me and my spotty updates, so I made this post a little bit longer. Thank you all for your reviews, and your beautiful compliments. I'd especially like to thank Wolf Paladin. You are always there to give me words of constructive criticism and the first to post when I update this story. Thank you so much! _


	11. Chapter 11

She woke up to the sound of hard footsteps on wood as the wood squealed under the weight. The sound shot through her mind, and she raised her head to check out what the noise was. She instantly regretted it, as the haze of her mind tried to make sense of what was going on. She opened her eyes and snapped them shut, the light burned. She immediately felt anger in her veins. Why did she feel so ill? Why did the light burn?

"Oh good, you're up," Galen said, bringing her a water flask. She shushed him angrily, and he lowered his voice. "Drink this water, it will help. I also raided Angelina's private stash for one of these," he held up a small purple vial. The mage opened an eye as she huddled herself in a corner. "Drink it." He popped the vial open, and handed it to her. With shaky hands, she touched the bottle and took it from him. Quickly tossing back the liquid like she did the night before, she savored the affect it had on her burning throat. It was so soothing, she let out a short moan of relief. Her anger dissipated into annoyance.

"Water next," the warrior said, handing her a flask. "Why did you get so drunk?"

"No questions! Too loud. Too much pain." She said, as she started to down the water.

"Hey, easy with that-" The warning came too late, as her eyes flew open, and she scrambled to her feet and ran out of the room. Galen almost wanted to chuckle, for he knew the feeling all too well. He followed her slowly, just to hear the tail end of her retching into the sea.

"I told you to sip it," he came up the stairs to stand beside her.

"Why don't you do something productive? Like on the other side of the ship." The mage demanded in annoyance.

Her face blanched as she pulled her hair back in a ponytail with her hand. Being out in the light was killing her, but she didn't want to empty her dinner all over the room they were staying in. He looked down at her with his golden eyes, a side of his lips turned up in a smirk. When he didn't answer her, she looked up through her caramel bangs to see his smug expression. She scoffed, but then she braced herself for another wave of nausea.

"Sweet Sunwell," she grimaced with the taste of bile.

"I suspect that was your first drink last night."

"I've had wine before, but not that brown stuff."

"Caraway burnwine." Galen sighed, remembering his experiences with the drink. "Did you at least sleep well?" He asked.

"I assume you mean was I visited by him last night? No. Thank the Light, he didn't show up." She wished she were on land so she could find a small mint plant to chew on.

"Well, I also was wondering if you slept well." He shrugged his massive shoulders. She wondered what caused the change in attitude, and why she wasn't being scolded for drinking too much the night before, and being treated more like a prisoner when she first met him.

"Just go away and let me be miserable in peace." She shot, her cranky mood was beginning to boil over into anger again. She didn't have the energy for that. Nor did she have the energy to try and understand why her captor was playing nice. The rocking of the boat should have upset her more, but it actually seemed to help a little.

"I was only trying to help," Galen protested. The mage brought a slender hand up to stop him, while the other was massaging her temple.

"Don't do me any favors."

"Why not? You begged me for one last night." He taunted, and he saw her eyes narrow at him.

"I did not."

"Oh, but you did. You begged me not to leave the room while you fell asleep."

"I have no memory of this," she glared at him and gritted her teeth.

"The request didn't just stop there, you wanted me to sit by and watch you all night. You even held my shoulder until you fell asleep." Galen felt the power and need to express his dominance over her, especially now. Why the urge was so important, he didn't know. However, he got the effect he wanted, as he saw the mage's cheeks begin to flush.

"I-I would never do such a thing," she turned her head away from him, trying to hide her embarrassment. Pieces of her memory started to come back to her, and she did remember the last thing she saw before sleep came to her. Her last memory was the image of her small hand gripping on to the night elf's shoulder while he sat with his back to the wall.

"You trusted me enough last night to watch over you while you slept," he gave her a smug half smile, while he lowered his head to hers. Her eyes darted to him, while she kept her head slightly turned away. His expression gnawed at her, giving rise to feelings of inferiority and humiliation. How could she even trust a night elf that had just kidnapped her from home less than a week ago?

"Just leave me alone," she curled her upper lip in disgust at him, and slipped away from his close proximity to retreat back down into the room. The night elf felt his control slipping, and he wasn't about to let that happen.

"Don't walk away from me," the warrior grabbed her arm and tried to pull her back.

Marcail pivoted on the ball of her foot, pulled her other arm back, and then brought it across the warrior's face in a loud slap. Galen was so stunned that she actually just used physical force on him that he released her. A fuming Marcail shot him a deathly look, and spun back around to go back to the room. The warrior gripped his jawbone and moved it back and forth. For a mage, she had some power hidden in that tiny form. He watched her as she descended the stairs, and then heard a loud slam of a door. A loud, outrageous feminine laugh came from behind him. He didn't even have to look over his shoulder to find out who it was, for he knew that laugh all to well.

"My, my," Captain Angelina's boots clicked on the wooden deck as she came to stand next to him, "you certainly have a way with women."

"She's impossible." The night elf said through gritted teeth. "she knows nothing of respect."

"I'll admit, the tension between you two," she gave a low whistle. "It's enough to get me aroused."

"Really, Angelina?" The night elf glowered at her over his shoulder. "Is that all you think about?"

"Sometimes," she smirked, "you would know."

"Why are you even here right now?"

"It's my ship, I can go wherever I want." She tossed her ebony hair.

"What do you want?" He sighed, pressing his thumb and forefinger to the beginning of his eyebrows.

"Nothing, really," she said, her brown eyes playful as she looked to the side. "I was just wondering where you were planning on your relationship going."

"What's it to you?"

"You've brought yourself a very fine looking girl. I'll even admit, the dress you gave her never looked so fine on me. But more importantly, she's got some personality behind those looks."

"Again, what's it to you?"

"She would be good to tame the beast inside you," she raised an eyebrow.

"Talking her up doesn't benefit you at all."

"Galen, we didn't work out." She said, her face going serious. "I need the sea, you need... something else entirely. I'm not going to try to work my way back into your life like that. Get over yourself." She rolled her eyes. "Have I ever lied to you before?"

"No."

"Why would I start now?" Angelina's lips pursed. "Look at her, she's real and true! You could keep her in Teldrassil and she would fall for you, easily. You just need to remember your charm, because barking orders at her is getting you nowhere."

"What in Shining Elune-" he narrowed his gaze more. "Are you taking sides?"

"I'm certainly not going to support you lying to yourself," she shrugged. "And your roaming days aren't desirable anymore. You said those words to me once, what's holding you back?"

"Why don't you go hoist the sails or shoot someone? Go do something pirate-like and let me get back to my life."

"You need to soften up if you want to woo that girl."

"What if I don't want to woo her?"

"Then you have become more blind than I would ever imagine." She frowned, and started to turn away. "I would get used to eating alone if I were you." She added before she stalked off.

This didn't make any sense to the night elf. Elune, the whole conversation made no sense to him. Angelina was a good friend, and remarkably good in bed. But she was also one of the most honest people he had ever known. But why was she trying to play matchmaker and talk up the mage to him? The mage was a captive, nothing else. Sure, the elf was attractive, and he deathly desired her to make love to, but he wasn't really interested in anything else. Was he? Looking back to Angelina, who had reported back to her post, he gazed back to the entrance into the lower decks. Pride would keep him from trying to talk to the mage, and if she wanted to make her hostage situation easier on herself, she would come and seek him out.

.

Marcail's head pounded, as she curled up on the bed and sighed out her pain. Breathing deeply, like how she did in meditation always seemed to help when she was feeling bad. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. She imagined herself sinking deeper into the bed, down through the wooden boat, deep into the sea to the very bottom in the sand. She imagined herself sleeping under the sea, safe from prying eyes and ransoms. And especially safe from the ravishing glances Galen gave her. She pictured the fish swimming around her, and the kelp swaying with the currents of the cool water. There, she would sleep for a thousand years, only emerging once the mess was gone.

She sighed, feeling much calmer, and her headache had dulled to a mild drumming instead of the intense throttling pain from before. If she could only calm her stomach, now. She wished she hadn't emptied her stomach from the medicine that Galen had given her. It did soothe her throat a little to have it. She reached for the water flask and was extremely careful to only sip on it. She did not want to repeat her mistake.

She sighed again, as she thought of her mother. Usually, when she was sick, her mother put her to bed immediately, and no amount of excuses could convince her otherwise. Even her studies at the Academy were put on hold. Her mother made it very clear that health came before success, but Una wasn't careless with her daughter's studies. She always managed to secure the books that she needed while she was in bed. Marcail smiled with the remembrance of her mother with a stack of books in both hands, and teacups and a teapot were balanced on top. There, her mother would help her study, while giving her endless amounts of hot tea and broth to make her feel better. To keep her fevers down, Una used frost magic to cool her hands and place them on her daughter's burning face.

She was a good mother, and Marcail fought back a sob of how much she longed for her to be there. To have quiet naps while her mother was embroidering or reading in the chair next to her bed. To have the soothing voice wake her while she mixed herbal concoctions into hot chocolate for her. Marcail imagined she was in her room in Silvermoon, and her mother was there, telling her in a soft voice of the day she was born and how happy her parents were to welcome a baby girl into the world. Marcail drifted off to sleep, reminding herself that she really was home, and this was all a dream.

.

_When Marcail felt herself waking, she was wondering where the sound of lapping waves had gone. She could usually hear that in the background. She perked her elvish ears, but still heard nothing. She felt something was amiss when she realized that she wasn't being rocked by the boat anymore, either. Her eyes snapped open and she immediately sat up and screamed, her hands flying to her face to cover her eyes. No, this couldn't be happening. This wasn't happening to her right now!_

_She was back in Outland, but now she was somewhere in the middle of the baking heat of Hellfire Peninsula. What on earth had happened? Was she dreaming? She dropped her hands to pinch her arm. Yes, she definitely felt that. She started to stand, and then she looked around her. Behind her, there was a path leading up a tall hill, where a tall tower of blood elven architecture stood proudly, gleaming in the sun with it's alabaster stone walls and golden accents. She felt it clashed horribly with the cracked, red land and helboars lurking nearby. No blood elf should ever feel safe so close to the corruption of the Burning Legion._

_She stepped forward, wondering if it were safe to approach the tower. She had a nagging sensation to follow the pathway up to the tower. She pinched herself again, just to be sure. She still felt the pinch. She started walking up the sandy path that lead to the tower. She was getting closer, when she realized that her dress wasn't falling from her shoulder. Looking down, she saw that she was in her red robes with a white sash that she usually wore in Outland, back when she used to fight there. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and she felt a tingling sensation all over her skin. What in the Light was going on?_

_Once she was at the tower, she placed her hand on the wall, feeling the coolness on her skin. Somehow, the tower was cool compared to the heat of the land. She entered in, and looked around. Only a tall, spiral staircase that wrapped around the tower was inside. She lifted her skirt lightly, as she began to climb the stairs. She put one hand on the wall, and her eyes locked on the top of the tower. She couldn't see anything but the roof. She climbed the staircase, and when she reached the top, she was winded. She emerged from the stairs to walk on the alabaster floor. The roof was covered by the frame of a golden gazebo, with large wings on opposite sides of the structure._

"_Hello, cousin," the most chilling voice she had ever heard in her life came from behind her. She twirled around, coming face to face with Kael'Thas. She tried to slow her racing pulse, pounding in her ears and her knees began to shake. She tried to appear cooler than the last time they met, and prayed that she had enough magic to resist him._

"_Hello Kael'Thas," she replied, her voice sounding much more aloof than she was._

"_You're not screaming, yet. Do you no longer fear me?" A smug grin appeared on his face._

"_How are you doing this?" She demanded, burying her fists in her robes and grasping the material in her grip._

"_Come now," wicked amusement danced in his eyes, while he began to circle her. "If I gave all my tricks away, you would try to stop me. Would you not?"_

"_I _will_ stop you," she glared. A bark of laughter escaped the Prince of the Blood Elves._

"_As long as you are without your magic, you can't do a thing."_

"_Why?" She turned to face him, jutting her small chin at him. He stopped pacing around her._

"_Because you allowed yourself to get captured."_

"_No, I mean, why are you coming after me? Why do you prefer to single me out?" A malicious grin played on his features._

"_Ah, that is the question of the year. Why Marcail? Would she rather me find some other prey?"_

"_No!" She shouted, not wanting another party to be harmed in the web of deceit Kael'Thas was making._

"_How do you know I haven't done so already?" He raised an eyebrow, but still had his smirk on his face. Marcail's eyes widened in fear, and a chuckle escaped him. "Alas, you can put your mind at ease. My plans currently only involve you."_

"_And just what are those plans? Do you intend to torture me until the end of my days with your visits? Living through me to kill and suck the mana from every living being in Azeroth? To become more powerful than any mage who ever lived?"_

"_That sounds like fun, I like the way you think," his eyes narrowed and his gaze changed into something that sent another wave of fear through her body._

"_What do you want with me?" She gritted out through clenched teeth._

"_What I was promised, from your family so long ago." His smile dropped, as he glared. Marcail stared at him in confusion. "Oh, how wonderful," the sinister smirk returned. "They never told you, did they?"_

"_That web of lies you're weaving will not trap me, traitor," she gave him a warning glare. She felt her knees beginning to shake harder. She brushed past him, going to the edge of the golden gazebo, clutching to a pillar for support._

"_Why would I lie, when the truth is much more satisfying?" He followed her to where she was, her back to him and staring out into the land. "I will take what is rightfully mine, that I promise you, Marcail." She shuddered at the threat in his voice, as she leaned into the gold pillar for more support._

"_Shall I begin the tale? It had been planned from the moment you were born. My father, King __Anasterian Sunstrider, had been searching for a powerful match for me to wed. If you remember your history well, he had a lot on his mind back then." Marcail slowly nodded, remembering the Second War and how the high elves had sided with the Old Alliance, somewhat reluctantly, and how that came to burn the forests of Quel'Danas. "Imagine his surprise when a daughter born into one of the last pureblood mage families and distant cousins came to him."_

"_No," she shook her head._

"_Yes. Your parents had my father take a look at you. The magic that flowed within you even as an infant could be felt just by standing near you, it was as if you were born from the Sunwell. Magic radiated from you. I was still a boy, but I remember the look that he gave you, and I'll never forget it."_

"_Stop," she turned around to face him. Anger and hurt flashed in her eyes._

"_We were to wed when you became of age. Father told me of this before his final battle with Arthas." The muscles in his jaw tightened noticeably. "After that, I knew my responsibility as prince, and you were still but a child. So I followed my father's lead, caring for our people in trying to find a power source to replace the Sunwell. Arthas, that damned monster. My soul cried out in joy when I felt his power vanish."_

"_Your searching ultimately led to a never ending thirst for power. The Scryers were correct, your selfish ways were destroying our people." She snapped, and was immediately met with a hard slap across her face._

"_I moved mountains for our people," he snarled, pointing his finger at her and lowering his face to hers. The glare of vengeance and rage were so shattering that Marcail felt the corruption nibbling at her soul, like a potent acid trying to get through a barrier. "I will kill anyone and anything that brings harm to our people." The female put a hand to her cheek and rubbed it, shocked, but still fearful of striking back._

"_As for our connection, we were magically linked when our betrothal was set," he sighed, turning away from her. She watched his shoulders sink. Her soft heart immediately felt his pain. However, Kael'Thas did turn to the Burning Legion, but he was trying to do it for the right reasons. At least at first he was._

"_Is that why you get into my head so easily?" She asked, carefully._

"_It is one of the many advantages."_

"_If we were betrothed, why did I never meet you when you were... alive?"_

"_My father arranged the match," he shrugged, his back still to her. "And I had much to do after his death."_

"_That's not an excuse. If we were to be wed, then you would have come to see me." She searched for possible reasons for his abandonment. Then, suddenly, with her mage intellect, she found the reason. "You fell in love with someone else." Her eyes widened. When he didn't respond, she knew she had to be right._

"_Then why can't you go and bother her and leave me alone?" She demanded._

"_I can't reach her. Her magic has grown much stronger than I thought." He still didn't look at her._

"_If you love her, than what can you possibly want from me? Is this for honor? I release you from this betrothal!" Finally he whipped around, coming face to face with her. She stepped back, almost tripping and falling back. Panic set as she realized how close she was to the ledge._

"_I want you to retrieve every last strand of your magic from that kal'dorei!" He growled. Fear sunk deep in the pit in her stomach. She felt that it had settled there, never to leave her again. He grasped her arms, and she winced. "And never trust him. He is allied with the people who let Quel'Danas burn. As soon as you feel you can trust him is exactly when he will betray you." He gave her another smirk, and began to turn away. _

_Suddenly, a feeling of power coursed through her veins. It was like her magic had been restored, but it was different. It definitely was her own magic she felt, but amplified, and even more pure. It swelled around her, and the air temperature around her dropped rapidly. She felt the power at her fingertips, aching to be released. Kael'Thas must have felt the change, looking up at her with a mix of surprise and anger._

"_Get. Out." She ordered, launching a potent frostbolt into his chest. He was taken off guard at first, kneeling slightly and clutching his wound._

"_I'm only gonna say this once. Stay out of my mind!" She hollered, shooting another powerful frostbolt. This time, he was at his feet in an instant, absorbing her attack with an arcane barrier of his own. She channeled another frostbolt, and her faithful water elemental surged to her side, instantly assisting her. She activated deep freeze, giving her an even greater advance in ripping Kael'Thas from her mind. She kept wailing on him, until he broke free of her icy bonds, and shot her with his arcane missiles. The ice barrier she put up did little to stop the pain. The arcane energy shocked through her body. But she gritted her teeth, refusing to give up. _

_Suddenly, he was gone. She knew he hadn't left her mind, she could sense the corrupted magic. She was shocked by an arcane barrage to her back. Pain wrecked her body, but she turned to see he had blinked down to the ground. Casting a slow fall spell, she shot him with another frostbolt, and her elemental was already on the ground, continuing the attack. Once her feet touched the ground, she blasted him with a cone of cold. But he had disappeared. _

"_You might think you have won the battle, cousin, but I will be back. I will have my vengeance." A whisper echoed throughout the valley, followed by menacing laughter. It taunted her, and she suddenly saw shadows of him playing all about the valley. She clenched her teeth, eyes darting to every movement, trying to seek him out. She started the cast of a frostbolt, having it at the ready when she found him. She cried out in frustration, suddenly spreading her arms in an arc, and the powerful frostbolt exploded. She channeled a deep blizzard throughout the land, seeking out anything but his mirror images. For the real Kael'Thas. The red land was being covered in white, as she channeled her energy further, pushing her limits. _

"_Marcail," a soft voice beckoned her. The voice brought comfort into her heart. She slowed her attack, as her ears twitched at the sound._

"_Marcail, wake up." It begged her. She looked over her shoulder, expecting to see more shadows and tricks._

"_Please, open your eyes."_


	12. Chapter 12

Marcail felt the warmth immediately return to her body, as if she were curled up with a warm, furry animal. She found herself nuzzling her head deeper into the feeling. She felt the sensation of safety and protection bubble inside her. She gave a small whimper, her hands seeking the warmth.

"Marcail, dear Elune, what happened?" The velvet voice asked her. She gave a grunt in response. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, and her eyes adjusted to the light. A fire was made in a brazier in the corner. A dark figure danced in front of her vision, but she wasn't too sure what she was seeing.

"Marcail," the voice spoke again. It took a while for her to remember where she was. She as on an Alliance boat, still currently being held for ransom by a devilishly attractive night elf. She opened her eyes and blinked, registering the face in front of her. The face of that night elf looked deep into her eyes, searching for her consciousness. She felt his arms around her, as she realized that this was the second time she was waking up in his embrace. She felt his arm muscles tighten around her as she felt the warmth surrounding her. She was immediately filled with a warm feeling as her round bottom pressed into his lap. Her chest tightened and she swallowed hard.

"Uh," she felt a blush rising in her cheeks. "Hi." She winced, feeling dumb.

"Hi?" Galen's concerned gaze turned harsh. "You've been out for six hours strait and all you have to say is 'hi'?!" He demanded, releasing her and she wiggled the rest of her body on to the bed, trying to move the feeling of his rock hard muscles from her rear. It had left a burning imprint she feared that would take some time to fade. He stood from the bed, his large body blocking the light from the fire.

"Six hours?" The mage coughed, and tucked her caramel locks behind her ears. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play coy, tell me everything," he wagged his finger at her. His authoritarian style did little to comfort the mage. "I've been here the past six hours, watching you, holding you down, and keeping you from harming anyone on this ship. It was like you were possessed by a demon, you shook, thrashed, screamed and yelled things in Thalassian even I couldn't understand. You were impossible to wake from your spell." She cocked her head, almost incredulous at these accusations.

"I couldn't have possibly been asleep for six hours. I was trapped in my mind maybe half an hour at most."

"No, you've been screaming and chanting horrible things, over and over. Were you speaking in demonic?" His eyes grew in anger.

"Don't be silly, I don't even know the first thing about the foul demon tongue."

"You certainly fooled me for a while there." He narrowed his gaze, and then paced the room, not taking his gaze from her. "What happened?" He asked again.

"He came to me." She said, her gaze looking out of the port hole, out to the sea.

"What else happened?" The warrior's patience was clearly wearing thin, but she reflected on her conversation with her betrothed cousin. She decided to leave the part that she was betrothed to two men. It was hard to accept Kael'Thas' words, because how much did she trust to be true? She didn't want to believe any of it, but a part of her wondered why he would make up such a thing.

"H-he said he wanted me to get my magic back."

"That's it? There has to be more!"

"I don't know what he wants from me, either, Galen. Stop pumping me for information I do not have." She snapped, her eyes darting to him as he approached her. She scurried to the corner of the wall, trying to escape him and his anger.

"You are hiding something from me, and I know it!" He glowered at her, coming to a stop at the side of the bed. She glanced at his fists clenching and releasing.

"He told me not to trust you," she added quickly. "He said you would betray me just like the Alliance did back in the Second War."

"I highly doubt he came to you to give you a history lesson and remind you to reclaim your magic. You're still hiding something. The last time your mind was invaded by that monster, he made you murder in cold blood. "

"Well that's it! I'm not lying," she brought her face closer to his, knowing that she had just told one of the worst lies of her life. The warrior's features changed to cold, hard anger. The muscles in his neck constricted with tension.

"You, little elf, are so transparent that polished glass cannot compare." He glowered. She guiltily looked down to her lap, where she folded her hands together. She then noticed a thin and long chain of saronite, and a heavy pendent dangling from her neck. She followed the chain and then brought up a large, emerald pendant. Looking closely, she saw the strands of mana moving and flowing within the gem.

"Y-you gave me my magic back?" She looked up at him, making the connection as to where she got her power in her mind.

"I did not want to see him win," he continued his furrowed gaze. "I knew you could defeat him if you had your arcane magic."

"But you risked me running from you. You're risking it even now, by not snatching it from my neck." Her head tilted, wondering what could have possibly given him the courage to place the gem around her neck.

"Yes, I am," he answered her, locking in on her gaze, but made no move to reacquire the pendant.

"I could easily teleport home, right now. You do realize that?" Her emerald eyes searched his golden ones, trying to find a shred of sense.

"Then I would fight to keep you," his intense golden gaze sent a shiver down her neck. His words shook her, and so did his trust. He trusted her to use her magic to fight off Kael'Thas, and then not try to escape when she returned from her mind.

"If I made a single move that hinted I was about to cast a spell, what would you do, Galen?" She pushed, unsure as to why she was poking the beast.

"I would unleash the power I was holding back when we first fought." His gaze never left hers, still searing into her very being. She fought back another shiver. If this were a test of wills, she was failing. They sat there, staring at each other, neither willing to back down. Marcail was the first to break eye contact, looking away from him.

"As much as I want to go home," she began, begrudgingly removing the amulet from her neck. "I am too humbled by your trust in me to betray it." She opened the warrior's fist, and laid it in his palm, and then closed his fingers around it.

"You realize you just passed up a chance to escape." He raised an eyebrow.

"I do," she nodded, looking into his eyes, still touching his hand.

"This doesn't mean anything has changed," he pulled the chain over his head and tucked the pendant inside his shirt. She pulled her arms around her knees, hugging herself.

"I know."

"I will still guard access to your magic through this gem."

"Someday, I need to have my magic back," she warned. "I've never been without magic for this long in my life." He was silent. "Have you yet figured out how to reverse this spell? If my ransom is paid and I am free to leave, are you just going to leave me with this severed link?" She asked, partly curious to see his answer, but more concerned on how she would ever be whole again. Confusion played across his features, as she realized he hadn't even given it thought. Anger bubbled in the back of her throat.

"You aren't seriously planning on leaving me like this?" She gaped at his cruelty.

"Calm down!" He barked at her, as she instantly shut her mouth. "No, I won't. I will find a way to fix this, but only after I get my ransom." Her lips pursed as she lowered her gaze to her hands. Why does it always come down to money? Is that really all he wants? She heard Galen let out a sigh as his put his forehead in his palm, and gently rubbed his forehead.

Marcail's thoughts drifted back to her nightmare. She didn't want to believe that all the mana she siphoned could already be out. That would mean the addiction pains would start, and her meditations would be a more difficult. It also meant she was defenseless against her skulking cousin. What if Galen hadn't been there in the room with her in time? She could have killed the whole boat! The horrible, sinking feeling began to grow in her gut.

"Galen," she swallowed hard. "I could have hurt somebody just now."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I was trapped in that nightmare. I could have done the same thing. To Angelina and her crew!" Marcail felt a huge sensation of guilt and fear hit her at once. "Angelina has suffered so much already," she whimpered, thinking of how the captain would deal with the loss of her crew and ship.

"Well, you didn't."

"Stop saying things like that! This is serious."

"I said I would take care of it!" The warrior snapped at her, glaring into her green eyes.

"You can't watch me all the time!"

"So we're back to this, are we?" The warrior sighed, growing tired of the argument already.

"We never even resolved it!" She pointed out, as he rose from his seat and started to pull the chair back to the desk on the opposite side of the wall.

"We did resolve it. I said nothing would happen, and I would be able to restrain you." His shoulders shrugged as her back was to her.

"You stubborn fool!" She shouted at him, as she shifted to the side of the bed to stand, but then began to regret it as her stomach churned. As soon as her small, ivory feet touched the rough wooden planks of the floor, she tucked her head between her knees and bit her lip, trying to keep her body settled.

"Look at you," the warrior scoffed. "We are almost to Auberdine, and instead of resting up, you would prefer to use the last of your strength to fight me?"

"At least if I'm weaker, you would have a better chance at taking me out under another one of those spells." She mumbled, staring at the wooden floor.

"It won't come to that," he assured her, with a little more kindness in his voice than he intended. She heard his footsteps coming closer to her, and felt his presence stand to the side of her. She heard him sigh and felt the bed sink when he sat beside her. "I promised I would protect you from _him._" He explained. "If you can't trust me on anything, at least trust me on that."

"It's not you I don't trust," she looked up at him with sadness in her eyes. "It's what I'm capable of doing under his control."

"I understand," the warrior nodded, but didn't break eye contact. Suddenly, Marcail lost control of herself and let out a harsh sob that shook her whole body, before she turned away from the warrior and tried desperately to get herself under control. She tried biting her lip, and covering her face with her small hands, and holding her breath, but nothing seemed to stop her sobs. She was overwhelmed with her fears as well as her embarrassment for breaking down in front of Galen. Then, surprisingly, she felt large, warm arms wrapping around her body, and felt his large chest meeting her back. She felt the night elf's heartbeat against her, and his calm, rhythmic breathing. She didn't fight it, she couldn't let herself move away from his gentle embrace, it was too comforting in this moment. And she needed it too much. Instead, she let her head tilt to the side to rest on his arm.

"You have nothing to fear," he whispered, his breath hot on the back of her neck.

"You might be right," she replied in hushed tones, "but you have everything to fear."

.

They stood on the dock, waiting for the boat to take them to Teldrassil. Usually, there was more traffic, but today, they were all alone. The tall and powerful night elf warrior, and the small and delicate blood elf who was still wrapped in a large, dark cloak. Galen looked down to see her standing deathly still. They hadn't said much to each other since the boat ride, and the silence was beginning to unnerve him.

"Marcail," he began, and she turned her head to face him, the helm of the cloak covering part of her face. She looked miserable, the only thing he could do was put a hand on her shoulder to try and comfort her.

"The boat ride from Auberdine to Teldrassil is very short. See? You can see the island from here," he pointed across the ocean.

It didn't work very well, and her spirits sunk even lower when they spotted the boat to Teldrassil. Marcail played with the idea of jumping from the dock and swimming her way to shore, magic be damned! However, she had missed her chance, as Galen's grip on her shoulders tightened. As if he knew what she were thinking. She looked up at him, only to find him avoiding eye contact and guiding her closer to the boat that had landed and was starting to dock. As the bridge extended for them to board, she let out a woeful sigh. He dropped his arms to his sides, giving her the freedom to roam around the deck. She strolled to the other side of the boat and just rested her arms on the railing, her fears looming over her like a dark cloud.

.

The mist parted, revealing the island of Teldrassil. Monstrous trees all in cool colors gave an air of mystery, as the dock came into view.

"Galen." She finally spoke, and she removed the hood of the cloak, revealing that deep golden hair and emerald eyes, which looked at him with deep sincerity. He looked back into her eyes, as she clearly struggled with her thoughts. "I need to ask you something."

"Yes?" He raised a curious navy blue brow at her.

"I've been thinking about this long and hard. I know you are a noble warrior of your word. You've kept me safe from the Alliance so far, and I thank you." He gave her a slow nod, unsure why she was telling him this as he searched her eyes for any clues. "As a warrior of your word, I want you to promise me something. I thought I could fight Kael'Thas on my own, but I will not have more innocent blood on my hands."

"Where are you going with this?"

"Galen, if I am to fall under the spell again, and you can't pull me back, I want you to take my head."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" He suddenly felt a wave of shock and anger rush over him, especially with her graphic detail of how she wanted him to end her life. "I am not-" She put a hand up to stop him.

"You don't understand what it's like to take innocent life and be responsible and not responsible at the same time. I'm not saying I have never killed before. I've killed plenty in Northrend, but all was a fair fight, and I never attacked first. This way of killing, I sneak up on them and steal their life source to make myself stronger. I will no longer sit in the passenger seat of this mess."

"You are just going to give up?" He glowered at her, angry at her sudden cowardice.

"It's not giving up, I can't fight him." She glared back. "You have no idea of how hard I've fought with this control. I won't have anyone else die under my control."

"You stupid, silly girl," he turned abruptly, angrily scouring the approaching island to ignore her. But Marcail wasn't having any of that.

As swift as a rogue, she grabbed the hilt of his sword with both of her hands and unsheathed it from it's holster. Immediately, Galen tried to grab it back, but she snatched it just out of his reach. Pointing the blade to his chest, she narrowed her eyes.

"You must promise me, you will take this blade and run it through me if you cannot stop me." Her eyes flashed in desperation, as she teetered on the edge of begging him.

"Just what do you plan on doing with that?" He crossed his arms in front of him, showing he didn't fear her threat. "You honestly think you can fight me?"

"I will if I must," she glared.

"If you're gonna hold a sword, at least do it right," he rolled his eyes, strolling around her. She tried to follow him with the point of the blade, but Galen grabbed her forearm and spun himself behind her. He grasped both of her arms, and pressed his large body into hers. She felt her cheeks grow warm at the contact.

"To truly wield a sword like this one, you need to brace your arms better. There would be no power in your swing with the way you're holding it."

He moved her arms into a better bracing position, and moved her hands farther apart. He hunched over her figure more, as he placed his foot on the inside of hers to nudge it. As he explained the technique, she felt his warm breath on the back of her neck. She was immediately reminded of his soft lips pressed against her pressure points. The thought sent hot electricity through her body.

"Spread your legs more." Marcail felt her whole face flush with those words, as she wanted to freeze up, but she complied.

"Lower your stance a bit," he commented, putting some of his weight on her until she bent her knees.

"Good." She bit her lip, holding back the flooding desire in her veins. As soon as he had gotten behind her, he was pulling away from her, and he stepped in front of her.

"There, now go ahead and strike me down," Galen said nonchalantly.

"W-what?" She asked, in a soft, confused voice. All trace of anger was removed from her face, and was replaced with heavily lidded eyes and parted lips.

"Weren't you going to attack me if I didn't agree to you demands?" He asked, raising an eyebrow and shifting his weight into a relaxed stance.

"Y-yes," she stammered, her head was dizzy in the different thoughts drifting around. Confusion, passion, frustration, lust, and fear all seemed to swarm her. What had just happened? Didn't she have control of the situation?

"Then go ahead. I'm standing right here," he opened his arms, giving her a clear shot. She whimpered in response, hesitating on what her next move was. Finally, after a few more seconds of staring, she dropped her defenses, handing the blade hilt first over to him in defeat.

"If it will help you sleep at night," Galen took the blade and sheathed it in it's rightful place at his belt. "I will stop you from harming anyone in every way I can. Though killing you is my very last option."

She looked up at him, catching his gaze.

"Thank you," she whispered, turning her attention back to the island, as _The Moonspray_ slowed down to a stop to dock. His promise would have to do. A platform was placed across the gap between the dock and the boat, and she felt a tug on the helm of the warrior's cloak as she looked up to see him pulling the hood over her head.


	13. Chapter 13

Back in Silvermoon, it had been almost a week since the wedding disaster. Hayden had returned, genuinely concerned for his sister. Search parties had been sent out, bringing back any clue they could find as to where she had gone. The parties had been thorough, and the rangers had tracked her all the way to Ironforge, but they couldn't continue. So, Hayden sat in his father's study, re-reading the reports the rangers had given Fergus Dawnfire.

"Hayden?" A soft voice came from the doorway. The blood elf looked up to see his mother, holding a small tray of cups, a carafe, and plates. He raised an eyebrow, suspicious of her motives for coming to talk to him. He had only been home for a day, because he didn't catch word of Marcail's disappearance until four days after it had happened. He left Quel'Danas as soon as he got the letter. However, his relationship with his parents remained unchanged. His father hadn't even spoken to him.

"So, you finally acknowledge your son is in your home?" He responded, a little more bitter than he intended.

"Please don't be angry," Una Dawnfire flinched at his words. She let herself into the study anyway, as the fine porcelain made soft tinking noises on the tray while she inched forward to the desk. She carefully placed the tray down, and stood on the other side, staring at her son with watchful eyes.

"I see Father hasn't set foot in the house since I got here." Hayden observed, crossing his arms and leaning back in the chair.

"He just doesn't know what to say to you, son," Una started to organize the carafe and small mugs around the desk. "You haven't moved from that spot in a few hours, so I was wondering if you were getting hungry."

"You just stood there and let him say all those despicable things about me," he gritted his teeth, refusing to move in the chair.

"He was angry, Hayden. He doesn't mean any of it, and you should know that. Your father loves you, but both of you are too proud to apologize to each other." She tried to explain, as she tucked her caramel-bronze hair back into her bun.

"Are you saying I need to apologize for something?"

"You brought up the subject to your father the night before-" Una squeezed her eyes shut, as the pain of her daughter being kidnapped before her eyes shot through her.

"Forcing Marc to marry someone against her will isn't right." Hayden snapped, uncaring as to what his mother felt. As far as he was concerned, his parents were the enemy, and he tried to rescue his sister from them. He had stuck up for her, and tried to do good by her, but his father had hurled pointless insults from the past. "She had her own life, and you two didn't need to interfere in it."

"Hayden," his mother said with exasperation. "There is a lot that you don't know about, and this marriage was very important to your sister's well-being."

"What? So she would be wealthy? So she could have stronger children with this family? That's not something that would really make her happy, and if you knew one thing about her, you would know that."

"It's not that simple," she shook her head, her voice thick with emotion.

"Yes, it actually is." His eyes narrowed, as he leaned forward in the chair. Una continued shaking her head.

"You aren't listening to me." She sheepishly looked up at her son. "I didn't come here to argue with you. I want you to know that your father and I love you very much. We love Marcail just as much. If you can't believe a word I say, please just believe that."

Silence filled the room, and only the sound of the enchanted broom sweeping in the corner made noise.

"I brought you raspberry tartlets, with honey-almond tea." Without receiving a response from her son, she turned and left the room. Hayden stared down at the pastries and frowned. He picked one up and bit the corner, and the sweet and buttery flavor exploded over his tastebuds. He knew immediately his mother had made them. These were his favorite desert his mother could make. When Marcail first started her training as a mage, he would come in to the kitchen and steal these behind his mother's back. One day, he had burned his hand trying to grab one off of the metal sheet and burned his hand. His eyes weren't even level with the table, so he hadn't seen where his small hand was grabbing. When he cried out, his mother had responded immediately, picking him up and casting a gentle cooling spell on his hand. She put him in a chair and had gotten some healing salve and bandaged his wound up. Then she placed a kiss on her son's golden head and given him some honey-almond tea.

He wondered if she even remembered those days.

.

Sarah looked up and winced at the sunlight that poured into her eyes. She quickly shielded her face with a book, and rubbed her eyes.

"I can tell you haven't seen the light in a while." The voice of her paladin friend responded.

"What do you want, Darrick?" The warlock snapped.

"Have you found a spell to undo that curse?"

"Is that all you came here for? To disturb my reading and ridicule me?"

"What do you have for me?" the paladin dismounted from his horse and walked up to her, his silver armor shining in the sunlight. She handed over the black book in her hands and coaxed him into the Slaughtered Lamb.

"This book," she let out a deep breath, "contains a few theories on how to reverse the spell."

"Theories?" He repeated, as he flipped through the leather-bound grimoire. The warlock nodded.

"This is as far as I've gotten. A few of them seem promising, but the side effects are very risky. I am going to need some animals to test on."

"That's disgusting. And this is the best you can do? We've been at this for days!"

"Well, Mr. Goodie-Goodie, I don't see your gift with the light has gotten you any closer to solving this mystery." She mocked, snatching her grimoire back. "At least I have something! Remind me again why we are doing this for-" she stopped herself from saying it aloud, but she mouthed _blood elf_ to Darrick.

"Because our leader told us to. Because this was all Galen's plan, and he wanted you to fix this mess." The paladin's eyes narrowed, his frustration growing at the tiny warlock for her rotten attitude. It wasn't like he enjoyed coming into this part of town, and seeing what Sarah worked on. In his mind, she would have made a great priestess, with her chestnut hair and stunning blue eyes. She had the look of an angel, but the fierceness of the demons she tamed. He could just imagine her in the holy robes, looking at him with a face of innocence. His body suddenly was rocked with burning hot lust for that innocent version of Sarah, and he felt himself flinch as he covered his mouth with his hand. He turned away from her and mentally scolded himself for thinking such thoughts.

"Darrick?" The warlock's eyebrows knitted in concern.

"I'm fine," he waved at her, pulling himself together. He turned back to face her.

"Are you sure? Maybe we both need a little break. I've been in the attic scouring through all those books for so long by candlelight that my eyes are crossing. Why don't we go get something to eat? We can go somewhere else in town." His eyes locked with hers, as she broke out a small smile. "I'm buying," she tempted him further.

"Very well, Sarah." He nodded as he let her lead the way outside and his gaze locked on her swaying hips and round backside. He inwardly groaned, wondering how much longer his fantasies would last, and prayed they would end very soon.

.

"You know that we must get her back, Fergus." Orick Lightbringer growled, as his steps hastened through the Court of the Sun. Fergus Dawnfire picked up his own pace to keep up with the paladin.

"Don't you think I know that?" Fergus hissed back, his frustration rising with the constant worry of waking up without knowing the fate of his daughter.

"The longer she stays with those monsters," he scrubbed a hand down his face, "the greater chance they could discover our little family secret."

"Marcail isn't as senseless as to betray her own family to the likes of the Alliance. Even if she has already had an episode, she probably has shrugged it off and gotten it under control by now. She's very resilient when it comes to her former betrothed."

"Did you even tell her about that?" Orick stopped dead in his tracks and faced the mage.

"No, of course not! That would only worsen the situation!"

"Good. She must come back, she is our only connection to the Prince. If we are ever to rise back to our former glory, he is our only hope. We must have him back."

"I told you not to use my daughter for that reason."

"And I told you that Nellan is the only blood elf in all of Azeroth to keep your daughter in check." Orick snapped back. "If you want your daughter to live, you will hand her over to Nellan as soon as possible. The Alliance will kill her, Fergus."

"Nellan has sent out multiple search parties, and I'm using every resource at my disposal. I want her home and alive much more than the both of you do." His gaze narrowed.

"I highly doubt that," the paladin replied. "I highly doubt that." He repeated and emphasized each word as he turned on his heel to continue on with his duties. Fergus watched Orick walk away and let out a shout of frustration, fisting his hands and sent a fireball flying into the sky. When he saw he was attracting attention from the shops and other citizens scattered about the courtyard, he immediately retreated in the direction of his home. He had to find a way to get a mind link to Marcail, and he had to do so fast if he ever wanted to see her again.

.

The ride through Darnassus only magnified Marcail's fears and anxieties. She was seated behind Galen on his saber, and begrudgingly had her arms wrapped around his warm, delicious waist to stay on. She tried to ignore her heart pounding in her ears, or her blood beginning to boil as she breathed in Galen's smell. She tried to ask her captor if they could slow down, but it came on deafened elvish ears. They raced through the city, as she kept her head down and prayed that the passerbys wouldn't discover her. They would probably string her up in the entrance to the city and display her body as an example for future enemies in the city. Or perhaps, if they discovered her identity, she would be sold to the highest bidder that wanted revenge on her and her family, and be left at his mercy.

While she played out all the horrifying scenarios in her mind, Galen called over her shoulder that they were leaving the city. She hesitantly brought her eyes up to see the grand pillars that welcomed night elves from the forest into their home city. The pearly pillars covered with creeping moss welcomed her to the forests of Teldrassil, and the remains of the World Tree. She had seen night elven architecture and land before, but there was something inviting and calming about the home forest. She watched the scenery as Galen and she ran down the main path leading into the forest. All the blends of deep royal blues, lavender, and emerald stunned her with it's beauty. Here, it was wild, untamed, and free. It couldn't be any more opposite from Eversong Woods.

They passed by other night elves walking on the path, and they all waved to Galen like they knew him. She wondered if his family might be influential to the night elves. He certainly didn't act like it. He was a brute. However, he might not act that way towards his own people. He might be well liked among his people. She grew nervous, with the thought of Galen being popular in Darnassus, and the prospect of meeting his family. Sweet Sunwell, she was going to be _living_ with his family for an extended period of time. What if they really were as uncivilized as her father told her? Something told her that since the warrior was able to show some forms of kindness, it had to have come from somewhere. Besides, he said this was the safest place to hide in Azeroth. Didn't he?

The nightsaber made a swift turn off of the main road, and the blood elf let out a squeak in surprise. Galen smiled as he glanced over his shoulder at her. He hadn't been home in months, and closer he got to home, the more relaxed he felt. Which was a first in a very long time. Funny, when he returned home from his defeat in Altrec Valley, he was nothing but nerves and anger. Now, he was glad to be coming home. He kicked his nightsaber again, encouraging him to go faster. The ride through the forest was calming, enjoyable. All the familiar smells and sounds of Teldrassil made his chest swell, and also the small arms wrapped around his waist probably contributed to his good mood, but he would never tell her that.

.

As they decended down the main pathway leading to his family estate, clouds gathered in the sky, making the land look darker. Marcail leaned to the side, peeking over the night elf's massive arms. Her eyes widened as they fell upon the home and landscape. The path came up to the house, and formed a circle, much like in the aristocratic country homes of noble families in Eversong Forest. The house was ginormous, comparing to night elf inns she had seen in places like Ashenvale and Dark Shore. There was a small porch that stood in front of the entrance to the house, and two lavender pillars supported the massive wooden frame of the roof. Night elf carvings of knots and moons wrapped around the roof frame. The windows were of a bright blue stained glass, catching bits of the sunlight and reflecting it back to her. Unlike most night elf architecture she had seen, Galen's home had walls, and even a front door. Most other homes the mage had seen were open, as they lived one with nature. The deep purple wood of the home almost had an iridescent color over it, much like night elf skin. Even the indigo colored shingles on the roof seemed to have a coating of shimmer on it.

She had never in her life seen something so grand and beautiful as the entrance to the Moonblade Estate. As Galen slowed down his nightsaber, he turned to the blood elf, still admiring the view of his home. He caught a smile creeping up on his face, for her amazement with the estate humbled him. Especially since she had lived in all those grand homes in Silvermoon City. Hell, she probably even had a country home in Eversong Woods, but she would never have anything as unique as his home. He slowed down to a stop, and got off of his mount. He extended his hand to her, to help her down.

The mage looked down at him, pursing her lips. Once again, he was being nice to her, which was beginning to bother her. She was not going to encourage this into some sort of friendly relationship. Only the Light knew why she kissed him. Twice. In remembrance to the fiery heat of their embrace, she blushed lightly and lowered her head.

"Welcome to the Moonblade Estate," Galen said, taking her small hand in his as she jumped from the nightsaber.

"My new prison," she added, dropping his hand and collecting her skirts and cloak so she wouldn't trip on them while walking.

"This 'new prison' would be much more comfortable than the stocks in Stormwind." He walked up to his house, stepping up to the lavender stone bridge that leveled up to his house. The double doors of his home were both made of the strange wood, and when the mage approached them, she saw there were tiny carvings of a forest all along the entire spread of both doors. The intricate forest also had animals peeking through bushes and flowers. As she was just getting a good look at the carvings, Galen was opening the door for her. He stepped in and held it open, waiting for her to walk over the threshold.

"Come on, I'll find you a room," he nodded inside. The mage bit her ruby lip and tentatively stepped inside the home. As soon as she did, though, she wished she could run right back outside and hide.

"Galen's home! Galen's home!" A young night elf with white medium-length hair and pale blue skin to match Galen's was racing down marble stairs, and she threw herself into his arms.

"Galen's home?" Another young night elf female with claw tattoos over her eyes and short indigo hair poked her head out of a door to the left of them.

"Girls, settle down, I'm sure he's been traveling all day and night to get here. Calm down," a tall night elf female with lilac skin and long, cascading, indigo blue hair emerged from a doorway on the right. "Brother," she gave a small nod.

"Welcome home, brother!" The female with the short hair and claw tattoos smiled as she emerged from the room.

"Girls, it's wonderful to see you all again," Galen's eyes softened, and Marcail peeked out from the hood of the cloak to be amazed twice in one day. His voice softened, his whole demeanor had changed. He was relaxed, and she couldn't put her finger on the right word, but she wanted to say he almost looked happy. "Wait, where's Isla?" He looked beyond them and craned his neck.

"Oh, she's in the garden," the female with the long indigo hair said. "We didn't know when you were coming, so she was helping father with the decorations."

"Decorations?" The warrior asked.

"It's the Annual Elven Midsummer Festival, and this year it was our turn to host the party." The shorter girl with the indigo ponytail said, smiling. Galen almost smacked himself for forgetting. Every year it was hosted on large grounds, like innkeeper's grounds, and Darnassas. Occasionally, a wealthy family would offer the use of their house, and it had always been his mother's dream to host a Midsummer Festival at the Moonblade Estate.

This was bad.

Almost every night elf on the island would be there. This was not the best of times to bring Marcail into the equation, but he had little choice now. He could turn and take her somewhere else until the festival was over, but that presented the risk of the Horde catching him. With Galen deep in thought, the girl with the medium-length white hair looked at her brother sideways.

"But that isn't why you came back," the snowy-haired girl said slowly.

"We had hoped that's why you were coming home," the tallest one said.

"I'm sorry, my sisters, but that isn't why I'm here." The male night elf frowned, seeing the disappointment in his sisters' eyes. "I came here because I need everyone's help."

"Anything, brother," the tallest one said, fiercely. Marcail felt that the emotion echoed in that female's voice reflected much loyalty in it.

"Hold on, Darine. You don't even know what I'm asking."

"It matters little." She said, waving her hand, dismissively.

"I am about to ask you all something very difficult," Galen struggled for words as he turned to the mage, still keeping her head down and standing in the shadows. He reached out for her shoulders and pushed her in front of him. The three night elf females all stood around the stranger in the large cloak, their attention unwavering. Marcail felt her legs begin to shake, as she lowered her head, praying to the Light that Galen didn't-

"This is Marcail," he said, tugging off her hood. She her hands instantly shot up to jerk the hood back on.

"A human!" The girl in the ponytail squealed. "You brought a human girl here?"

"No," suddenly Darine's voice grew cold. "That is a blood elf." She spat with venom.

"What? No! Galen wouldn't do that!"

"He already has," Darine glared at her brother, never breaking eye contact as Galen stared her down.

"Yes, she is a blood elf," Galen answered, as he tried to pull off Marcail's hood again. The mage slapped his hands away, but he was able to get her helm down. "Her name is Marcail, and I want you to treat her as a guest in our home. She only speaks Thalassian and Orcish."

Marcail turned around slowly, to face the three females. The female in the ponytail gawked at her, the snowy-haired female stared with no emotion, and Darine glowered at her.

"Marcail," the snowy-haired female echoed.

"Yes," the mage said, calmly.

"My name is Lavena," the snowy-haired female extended a hand. Marcail tentatively accepted it.

"I want us to speak only in Thalassian while she is here," Galen added.

"What in holy hell were you thinking, Galen?" Darine directed her glare to her brother. "How could you bring one of _them_ into our city, let alone our home?" She spoke in Thalassian, to make sure the blood elf heard her. "Half-bred rats are not welcome here." Marcail met Darine's glare with one of her own.

"Just because my people had the ability for such power, doesn't mean you should insult us based on your own insecurities." Marcail shot back.

"At least my people could handle the power they had effectively."

"You mean, with what little power they do have."

"That's it!" Darine unsheathed the two swords from her back, and entered a battle stance. "If your people are so powerful, then show me!"

"Gladly!" Marcail reached back with a hand and grabbed the emerald dangling from Galen's neck. She instantly felt her magic restored, and multiplied, as she readied a powerful frostbolt. But the male night elf instantly snatched her hand back, releasing her grip on the gem, as it fell from her fingers. That's when Darine slammed into the smaller elf, knocking her over, as Galen instinctively stepped to the side. But with the quick instincts of a warrior, he grabbed his sister around the waist, and yanked her away before she could harm the blood elf any further. He threw Darine to the side, and stood protectively in front of Marcail, as she picked herself up off the floor. Glancing back at her, he saw she was wiping blood from her mouth with the back of her hand and standing solidly on her own two feet. _Damn_, he thought to himself,_ she can sure take a hit_. Knowing how hard a charge from Darine was, he was surprised she just got back up.

"Do not," Galen huffed, "do that again."

"This is treason!" Darine hollered, pointing a sword at her brother. "I will see you hanged for this!"

"Stop it both of you!" A deep male voice bellowed from further in the house. Everyone stopped short, except for the blood elf, as she glared at everyone around her. "What is all of this?" Marcail turned to see an older elf, walking with another young night elf at his side, with lilac skin and deep navy hair in twin braids helped him walk.

"Galen has returned, father," the female said, but instantly observed the glowering blood elf in the corner and yelped, dropping her father's arm.

"What has caused the unwelcoming sound of fighting into this home?" He demanded.

"Father, your son has brought a blood elf into your home," Darine's voice dripped with acid as she said 'blood elf'.

"Galen."

"Father," the younger male night elf replied firmly.

"I hope you have a good reason for this."

"I always do, Father. I would like to explain it to you later when I get the chance."

"Please see that you do," his father's face grew grim.

"Can we speak in private?" Galen asked, standing tall.

"Are you sure your friend be safe with my daughters? I sense their apprehension and anger."

"I will help Marcail, Father," Lavena spoke up, as she went to the blood elf's side, linking arms with her.

"See to it that our guest is settled in the house. I assume your brother will take full responsibility for this." Their father spoke, as he started to turn to where his study was.

"I will, Father." Galen spoke up, as he went to follow him.

"That wasn't a question, son." The old elf said, as they turned the corner.

The five women were now left alone, and they stared at each other apprehensively. Marcail locked eyes with Darine, and she grasped Lavena's arm tighter.

"Darine!" Lavena scolded. "You heard father."

The eldest daughter snorted and turned on her heel, flipping her long, indigo hair in disgust as she retreated to the garden. The youngest daughter looked at her two other sisters for help, but they both immediately avoided eye contact, and started to retreat back to the parts of the house they were previously in. Lavena rolled her eyes and tugged on the blood elf hooked on her arm.

"Come, Marcail, I will show you to your room." She led her up the marble stairs, slightly cracked in places with green moss growing through them. The grand staircase coiled into a circle as a tower in the home. "This is our second floor of the house, where most of our bedrooms are and the library. However, the guest room is on the third floor, along with my room."

Marcail didn't reply, but they still hiked up the steep marble to the third floor, but looking up from the third floor, the staircase didn't look like it ended there. Lavena led the mage down the hallway, where a door on each side of the hall were. The right one was where the night elf opened the door. She held the door open and gestured for the blood elf to enter first. When she did, Marcail noticed a room smaller than the one she had at her town home in her parent's house, but a large, four-poster bed with a canopy of wisteria dangled over the wine-colored sheets. A carved wooden desk and chair were next to a window with the blue-stained glass. A higher stool with a small table next to it was in another corner, and there was also two female formed dress mannequins with half finished dresses on them next to the stool.

"Oh dear," Lavena rushed into the room and started to gather the pieces of material and mannequins in her arms, but ended up knocking over the small table with a sewing kit on it. The kit crashed to the floor as needles, beads, and thread went everywhere. "Oh no!" The night elf cried, as she righted the mannequins and fell to her knees to pick everything up. Instantly Marcail was at her side, helping to ravel up the thread and pick up the beads and putting them back in the kit.

"You don't have to help me, Marcail." Lavena said, looking up through her owl tattoos over her silver eyes. The blood elf shrugged and continued to help.

"It's what your brother would want me to do."

"Yes, but he's not here." The night elf pointed out. All the mage could do was shrug her shoulders. "Well, thank you. I sure made a mess of this, haven't I?" She chuckled softly.

"What is all of this?" The mage held out some collected beads.

"I'm a tailor," she answered, taking the handful of beads and putting them back into a tray. "Elune, I even had these organized by color and size." She murmured in disappointment as if she had said goodbye to a dear friend. The mage looked up at the half-finished dresses on the dress mannequins. She tugged at her collar as it had fallen off of her shoulder during the ruckus downstairs.

"What do you make, exactly?" She asked, licking the corner of her mouth.

"Well, I mostly make gowns and enchanted robes," Lavena answered, not looking up from picking up the mess. "I am working on Isla and Melluna's dresses for the midsummer festival coming up."

"Do you think you will finish them on time?"

"Of course! I work best under pressure," Lavena shot the blood elf a friendly smile. Then she looked at the dress that the blood elf was wearing, and put a finger to her cheek. "That gown doesn't fit you too well, does it?"

"I can't complain. It was donated to me from a human," Marcail explained, her deep golden hair curtaining around her face.

"Well that explains much. If you want I could take in the seams a bit, especially around the shoulders."

"It looks like you've got your work cut out for you, with your sister's gowns. My dress will just be a distraction." The blood elf tucked a honey blonde lock behind her long ear.

"It's no trouble," Lavena smiled again, as she placed the final bead into a tray and folded up her kit. "I'm just going to move these into my room so they aren't in your way." She stood up and tucked one of the mannequins under her arm. The blood elf stood and took the other mannequin in her arms and trailed behind her. They walked across the hall and put the mannequins in a corner of Lavena's room, and the night elf put her sewing kit on her nightstand.

"Thank you again, for helping me." Lavena turned to the blood elf. Marcail managed a weak smile in return. "Here, let me have the dress, I can work on it now." Her pale blue arm extended to the mage. Marcail's eyes widened.

"W-what? What would I wear in the meantime?"

"Oh, I think I have a dress that would fit you," the night elf turned and walked to her large trunk at the foot of her bed. Marcail looked around at Lavena's room, and found it was almost the exact mirror of the room she was staying in, except for the amount of trunks littered around the room. There had to be at least ten! Some were stacked on each other, and others were open, with fabric spilling from them in different colors of deep emerald, bright turquoise blue, heavy cream, and firey red.

"My Light, and I thought I had too many clothes and trunks." The blood elf thought aloud. Lavena looked up from the trunk she was digging in and gave a proud smile.

"Most of them are fabric I've collected over the years. Father is helping me get my own tailor's shop in Darnassus. I'm still an amateur, but I hope to someday make robes for the most powerful priests in our city, and the most beautiful gowns for our nobles." She said with a grin as she turned back to the trunk. "Ah! Here we are," she said, pulling a deep, dark blue dress from the trunk. The color was as deep as night sky on the ocean, and there were silver beads sewn sporadically on the gown like stars. She held it up for Marcail to see.

"I cannot wear that!"

"Why not?" Lavena's face grew sad.

"It's too beautiful!" Marcail exclaimed, "I shall ruin such a fine gown in-" She stopped herself from saying any further. She was going to say she would "ruin such a fine gown in a place like this", but she didn't have the heart to insult Lavena's home. The smile on the night elf's face grew back, and it didn't seem to bother her one bit.

"Nonsense, it will suit you well. Especially with that golden hair of yours and creamy skin. It will bring out more of your beauty." She beamed as she held it up to the mage's figure. "This was always too snug on me, it was one of my first creations. Try it on!"

Marcail knew accepting the gown meant she had to take special precautions with wearing such a gown, but she didn't have the heart to refuse it after the snow-haired female had gone through the trouble of finding it for her. With shaking hands, she took the dress from Lavena. As soon as it was in her hands, Lavena was helping her out of the large, plain dress and helping her into the midnight blue gown.

"Ah, it fits you like a glove," Lavena sighed, as she tied up the corset strings. Marcail gasped for breath as the last lace was tied, and looked down at her plunging neckline. "Just like I thought," she walked around the blood elf and admired her from the front. "It brings out your natural beauty even more. Especially with how petite your frame is."

The sleeves stopped at her elbow, with navy blue lace at the seams and more beads sewn on the sleeves. The gown covered her ankles, but still reached her feet.

"You look lovely." The night elf smiled.

"I-" Marcail started to speak, but felt a knot in her throat as emotion swelled up. No one had been so nice to her in days. She forced herself to get it together, and she cleared her throat. "Thank you, Lavena. You are too kind." She forced a smile, but her eyes said so much more.

"You're welcome. Do you need any more help settling in?" Lavena asked.

"I am parched," she said. "Could you show me where the kitchen is?"

"You're a guest, Marcail, go lay down, I'm sure you've had a very trying journey getting here." Lavena smiled again, as she led the sin'dorei out of her room and into the guest room.

"Thank you, again," Marcail whispered, as Lavena nodded and left down the hall and descended the stairs.

.


	14. Chapter 14

"Son, I may be blind, but did you think you could bring a blood elf in our home without me knowing?" His father demanded as Galen led him to his favorite chair in his study.

"Father, I would not insult you as such. I was going to tell you as soon as I came here, I promise."

"Galen, you've never led this family astray since your mother passed," his father stroked his silver and turquoise beard.

"And I'm not doing so now."

"Are you sure?" His father, Tanavar, asked.

"I'd stake my life on it." Galen answered.

"Then you would live a short life if you truly believe those words." His father sighed.

"Are you seriously doubting my ability to lead by me bringing a blood elf here?" Galen demanded.

"If it were only that simple, my son." Tanavar saw through his son's pig-headedness, knowing there was much more to this story. "Son, I've heard rumors of an Alliance raid in Silvermoon." Galen's eyes widened in surprise.

Word traveled faster than he did. He heard his father let out a small chuckle.

"You think I didn't know that was you?" Tanavar asked.

"How are you so sure that was me?"

"I've known that you've been seeking cold revenge for that incident in Alterac Valley-"

"It wasn't just an incident, Father," Galen angriliy interrupted. "The sin'dorei humiliated me in front of my superior officers, to the point where I couldn't show my face at my post."

"Galen." Tanavar stood, slowly, as he used the armrest of the chair for help. His silver eyes flickered with unrest. His tone had gone firm, as his face grew with discontent. "I have urged you to abandon these thoughts of revenge. You keep going down this path. What have you done to the poor girl?"

Galen almost thought he didn't hear him right. He was seriously talking to him about the blood elf's best interest? Galen was beside himself.

"Holy Arthas' ass, Father!"

"Don't take that tone with me," Tanavar sensed his son's anger with taking the girl's side. "This girl has no part in your hateful revenge. How could you involve an innocent? Your mother and I did not raise this blackness in your soul. What has become of you, my son?" Galen scoffed and started to pace the room.

"We can't all have your ability to keep your hands clean, Father. I'm willing to risk my soul for the ability to hold my head high back at my post. Some of us have to protect the Alliance, at any cost."

"If you truly believe that, you are lost." Tanavar shook his head.

"You were once a great druid yourself, you butchered Horde in your day. What makes you think you can stand so high and mighty and put yourself above me?" Galen demanded, still pacing the room.

"I can't," his father hung his head, knowing his own past. "I would give anything if I could go back and time and tell myself these words. To have the knowledge to forgive my enemies." Silence fell over them both as Galen stopped pacing and stared at his aging father.

"Does this mean I am no longer welcome here? Do I need to find somewhere else to wait out the ransom?"

"No, son, you are welcome here. Even if you are willing to risk your soul for this." His father turned away from his son, lowering himself to the seat and leaning into his head. A knock came on the door, and Lavena poked her white head in the room.

"Is everything okay? I heard shouting," she said nervously.

"Everything is fine, my daughter," Tanavar answered, but Lavena knew that there was something wrong.

Galen immediately turned from his father and left the room, stalking off to the training dummies they kept in the backyard for practice. He needed to release the tension from his strained conversation with his father. After he was out of ear reach, Lavena looked to her father.

"Is he going to be okay?" She asked.

"Pray, Lavena. Pray that he lets the light back into his heart."

.

As Marcail lounged around the room, stretching her arms and breathing in the smell of wisteria dangling from her canopy, she started to hear clinking noises of metal. Looking around the room to see where it was coming from, she carefully walked barefoot on the wood. An ear twitched toward the window, and she followed the sound. Looking down from the window, there was Galen, shirtless, wailing on a dummy. He was slashing away, showing moves she had never seen a warrior perform so close before. She was entranced by him, as he threw his energy and passion into the movement of his sword and footsteps. He was as light as a rogue on his feet, but as powerful as a warrior of his stature should be.

She fought the urge to go down the staircase to see him closer, fearing of running into one of his family members. She watched his muscles grip and flex as his powerful back glistened in the sunlight. Marcail couldn't help but lean forward more, to admire his agility and power. He still surprised her, for most night elf warriors she had encountered were not as lean as he. That didn't make him any less deadly, as she watched him spin on his feet and deliver a shattering blow into the thick wood. The necklace circled with him, the green gem filled with her magic twinkled in the sunlight. He finally started to let up, as his chest and shoulders heaved with his heavy breath. She remembered his warm breath on her neck back in the privacy of the room they shared on the ship. He had given her a pleasure she had never felt before, and she found herself longing for his touch at that very moment.

As if he sensed someone was watching him, the warrior looked up to see the mage, staring down at him through the open window to her room. A knowing smirk formed on his face; he had seen the way she was staring at him. His eyes intensely shot through her with such a force that she let out a yelp and stepped back. She saw his smirk, but she hadn't prepared for the intense sorrow, anger, and loneliness feelings to sweep through her. It was so strange, as if she had felt his emotions at the very moment. What just happened?

"Marcail? Are you alright?" A feminine voice called from the hall as Lavena entered in her open door.

"Y-yes," she turned to face Lavena, meeting her silver eyes with her own emerald ones.

"I heard you cry out," the priestess explained, as she brought a tray in and set it down on the nightstand. "I brought you some water, we have a stream that runs right from the mountains, here. It's cold and very crisp. Probably not what you're used to in Silvermoon."

"I'm sure I'll love it. Thank you," she replied, her face as still as stone, trying to recover from that smoldering stare still tingling her senses.

"You know, I wanted to apologize on behalf of my sister, Darine."

"Oh," Marcail rolled her eyes, remembering what First Mate Wavesinger said to her, "I've had worse introductions before."

"Well, that's not how our parents raised us. We were raised to be supportive of each other. And support and protect the good. Darine and Galen are both very strong-minded people."

"I've witnessed just how strong-minded your brother can be," the blood elf said, dryly. When the priestess' face reflected sadness, she immediately felt remorse. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"No, I understand. When my brother wants something, he's almost impossible to talk out of." She looked at the blood elf, as she sat on the side of the bed and took a sip of the water that Lavena brought for her. She almost breathed a sigh of relief as the cool liquid calmed her throat.

"I wanted to let you know, that while you are here, don't hesitate to ask me for anything." The night elf smiled, "I have night rails and extra shifts. They might be a little big, but I can tailor them for you."

"Lavena!" The blood elf frowned. "I don't want to put all that on you, that's too much work for one person."

"Well," her silver eyes looked to the floor, "maybe we can work out an arrangement?" The blood elf's eyebrows knitted together in concern.

"Like what kind of arrangement?"

"Perhaps you could work with me."

"Oh," she suddenly felt embarrassed. "I don't know how to sew."

"I could teach you, if you wanted." The night elf offered. Marcail nodded tentatively, agreeing not only to help her, but because she had no idea what she was going to do with the time that she had waiting around. Maybe she could find out more about the family, and why they spoke Thalassian so well. And she thought she could learn more about Galen as an added plus. She reminded herself that she was only interested to learn more about her enemy.

"Well, then," Marcail licked her lips, "when should I start?" She gave a smile, which was instantly matched with the night elf's.

"Come with me." Lavena grinned happily.

.

Marcail sighed heavily in the bed she was supposed to be asleep in. Looking up at the wisteria floating gently in the breeze above her head had calmed her down, but she just couldn't sleep. She had spent the entire afternoon learning how to sew with Lavena. She had started out miserably. She had pricked her fingers raw, but the night elf had graciously healed them for her so she could continue her work. She continued her stitching even when she felt her eyes crossing. When dinner rolled around, Lavena excused herself, and left the room. Only to return with a tray with two bowls of stew and a large loaf of bread on it. They ate together, carefully, to not spill any of the stew. Marcail was working with cheap linen, but she still didn't want to get it messy.

It had been a long day, she knew that she should get some sleep. Her mind was exhausted from focusing that hard. She hadn't studied that much since her days in the mage academy. She rolled over in the bed, propping herself up with an arm, looking to the window. She hadn't wanted to go anywhere when the family was awake, but now, after only listening to the night breeze, she was almost certain that everyone had gone to bed. Marcail felt the need to explore the land of Teldrassil. She had been cooped up in Ironforge, and then a ship for over a week. Not to mention how welcome she was to the rest of Galen's family. Breathing in the fresh air seemed more important than anything else at the moment. She swung her legs around and let her tiny bare feet touch the purple wood. She had on a silk night rail that hugged her curves and touched her ankles. However, the top part was so revealing, with crème silken straps almost as thin as the thread she was working with. The dress accentuated her cleavage, so she reached for the cloak she had on when she came in. Since it was Galen's, it dragged on the ground behind her, slightly, but at least it would keep her warm. After fastening it around her shoulders, she carefully reached for the doorknob and gently, quietly pushed the door open. She peeked from the doorway, and observed nothing but the moonlit hallway before her.

She tip toed in her bare feet, trying to be lighter on her feet to not wake anyone up. Walking down the marble staircase in the tower was strange. Nature had seeped into the home, and the fuzzy feel of moss over the cool marble brought a strange feeling that bubbled inside her. She wasn't sure, but was the feeling... comfort? She remembered the conversation from earlier that day, and the elder Moonblade with one of his daughters had entered the house from behind. Maybe there was more of the grounds in the back of the house? Like her courtyard in her family's town home in Silvermoon.

Marcail sneaked down the hallway, and when she got to the back of the house, she was astounded. It was huge, with a large table in the kitchen, with eight seats. The door leading outside to the garden wasn't even a door. Calling a "door" didn't do it justice, for a large, perfect, half circle opening was cut in the wall. She strolled outside, and was once again struck by the amazing beauty of the land. Now, since she was alone, she was free to observe at her own pace. Walking down the marble walkway, she passed through the garden, where the land opened up, leaving about four hundred meters of open space of minted green and royal purple grass. But that wasn't what astounded her most. It was the pond to her left, glittering in deep navy, like most of the Moonblade's hair. It was almost the size of the whole estate. There was even a path down to a dock.

Marcail couldn't resist the call of the shimmering water, reflecting the soft moonlight back to her. She started down the path, opening the cloak a little, letting the soothing night air breeze over her. She walked out to the end of the dock, and sat down, dangling her feet from the edge, hovering just a little above the water. She looked up to the treeline, looking at the stars play before her. It was such a wonderful scene, and somewhere in the air, she swore she had a waft of night jasmine every now and then. She lowered herself to the dock, laying on her back, looking up into the night sky.

She put a hand up to her forehead, wishing she had a sense of control over her life. If she died tomorrow, the feeling that she hadn't lived enough struck her, hard. She was suddenly overwhelmed with the sudden desire to live and survive. She hadn't earned the right to go back to her old post in Northrend. She hadn't made peace with her brother, or her parents for that matter. She hadn't had enough moments in the sun, or the feeling of casting a spell. She hadn't fallen in love, and lived her life out with her soul mate, watching grandchildren grow up and sipping tea in Eversong Woods with a woolen blanket draped on her lap.

She tried not to cry, thinking of her mother and how she missed her greatly. As she fought back the tears, she felt foolish, for there was no one else there to see her tears but the trees. Throwing an arm over her eyes, she sobbed woefully. If her mother were there, she would stroke her hair, lovingly, and ask Marcail to tell her all her problems. She would reflect on it and give her daughter the best advice she could. Whenever she had fallen apart, her mother had been there to pick up the pieces and put her back out into the world. Suddenly, she was struck with hot rage. If she died tomorrow, the thing she would be extremely seething with fury to the night elf who caused all of this to happen to her. She swore to herself she would fight until the last breath, no matter what came her way. She rolled her arm off of her eyes, staring up into the sky again. That was when she heard footsteps on the wood behind her. There was nothing to arm herself with, but she still had enough magic to frost nova the intruder and get away. She pounced to her feet, readying her attack.

"Hey!" A startled Galen protested, as he saw the determination in her eyes. "It's just me."

"Give me a reason not to attack you," she glared menacingly at him, curling her fingers out like she was about to claw him out like a she-cat. She was met with a scowl, as the night elf started walking toward her again. The night elf was dressed only in a pair of laced up cloth breeches. His shirtless, hairless torso instantly made her body shiver. She quickly shoved that feeling aside and mustered all her anger together.

"Because," in two steps he closed the distance between them and grabbed her wrist that was hovering in the air and lowered it. "I hold your magic, and I can easily defeat you."

"Coward," she spat, "face me like a true fighter."

"I did," he sneered. "You were bested."

"You backed me into a corner and knocked me out! If I had met you in Northrend I would have killed you." She tried to snatch her wrist from his grip, but he held tighter.

"Now you listen here," he snapped, pulling her into his chest, ready to give an earful to the mage, when he remembered that he didn't want to be cross with her. Not now, not after first coming home and listening to an earful from his family at dinner. He let out a long breath as he released her. She snatched her wrist back and rubbed where he had touched her.

"I didn't come out here to fight," he looked to the side, out toward the pond.

"Then what did you come here for?"

"I came because I heard you leave the house," his eyes met hers. "And then I heard crying." She kept her glare and rigid posture, wishing she had her magic back so she could hurt him and make him beg for mercy. A wicked half smile formed on her lips. "Why are you smiling like that?"

"I'm just thinking of different ways I'd like to kill you if I had my magic back," she smirked. "I think I would use my fire spells, just this once."

"Elune, stop it!" He grabbed her arms forcefully. Galen didn't want to hear how much she hated him. He knew she had every right to, and if she wanted to kill him, he couldn't blame the mage. If she wanted to kill him a thousand times over, he would understand. But he couldn't stand hear the burning hate in her voice while she spoke of it. It froze his insides, threatening to stop his heart.

"What? You want to live? Well so would I, Galen. I want to live. I want my own life, far away from here."

"I thought you said you didn't want to go on anymore." Lust suddenly washed over the night elf as she spoke with such passion, and the way her chest kept rising and falling was so tantalizing. He had noticed the state of dress she was in as soon has he emerged from the house, and his eyes fastened on her full breasts. The white silk material clung to her figure, he could see every curve, even if she had tried to cover it up in his cloak. In the cool breeze, her nipples had hardened under the white silk, and he followed the outline to each perfect one on her perfect breasts. His manhood instantly stiffened and he clenched his fists.

"I changed my mind." She said through gritted teeth.

"I see that," the night elf let her go, dropping his hands to his side, as he tried looking away from her cleavage. He stood there, awkwardly, not moving.

"Are you done? I was trying to enjoy the night before I was so rudely interrupted."

"You mean when you were sobbing?" The night elf couldn't help but point out. This female sure knew how to make his blood boil one minute, and then have him lusting after her like a young male nightsaber after a female in heat. Marcail glared, but chose to spin around, with her back to him, and sit on the corner of the dock, away from him.

"You've taken my magic, my pride, and my freedom. I won't let you take anything else away from me, kal'dorei." She hissed, folding her legs under her, hoping he would just leave her. She heard a heavy sigh, and then he actually crouched down to her level, and sat beside her with his legs dangling over the side of the dock. He looked directly at her, but she avoided looking at him.

"I didn't come here to fight. I heard someone stirring in the house, only to hear that someone was upset." He knew he was tweaking the truth. He actually couldn't sleep, and he was only thinking about the room above his, and her body, molded to the bed. He was thinking of how her sheets were caressing and covering her round rump and thighs, and how they were doing what he longed to do to her. He heard the soft creak of wood under her feet when she moved from her bed. He had actually tracked her from the moment she left, placing her in each part of the house as she walked. Why Lavena gave Marcail the room above his, he would never know why. But he would be damned if she switched rooms. He would make sure of it.

When she didn't respond, he continued, "I know today was rough. I know this whole thing has been horrifying for you. I do sincerely apologize for what happened in Ironforge. It's been a long time since-" he stopped himself, and he saw her eyes quickly dart to him, but only to dart back to the forest. "I'm used to traveling with soldiers, in heavy gear, and battle ready. But that's no excuse. I just want you to know how sorry I am."

"Are you going to release me?" She asked, but she knew the answer already.

"I can't do that just yet." He shook his head, looking into the water. "But I want to make your stay here at the Moonblade Estate a comfortable one. As comfortable as I can manage. I've spoken to my father, and Darine will not be allowed to lay another finger on you. I swear it." He heard her let out a sigh.

"She said she's going to have you hanged." She said, as nonchalantly as if she were speaking of the weather.

"She wouldn't do that, she's just angry. But if she did, I bet you would rejoice over my grave. You would have your magic back, and you would be free to leave." She didn't respond to him, again. Instead, she continued to study the forest. They were silent for a while, before she finally spoke up.

"I would feel bad if someone tried to kill their own brother." Marcail knew that she would probably feel a lot more than that. Families to her meant everything. "Mostly for your sister, Lavena." She added in, just to take back a little of her statement, but even that scrap of kindness still soothed Galen.

"I'll take it," he nodded.

"Why are you still out here, Galen?" She looked over her shoulder at him.

"I was going to ask if you were having trouble sleeping here." He shrugged. Marcail gave up. She didn't want to keep fighting with him so viciously, especially since she was going to be here longer.

"I guess a little." She shrugged, fiddling with the seam on her side.

"Were you sleeping this afternoon?" He asked, as she snorted.

"Yeah, as if I could fall asleep after that look you gave me."

"What look was that?"

"When you were below my window, fighting with a practice dummy." She rolled her eyes. He felt another wave of emotions hit him at once. So it shook her as deeply as he felt in that moment. The dress of sapphire blue she wore brought out her beauty, even from three floors down.

"So it affected you," amusement played in his eyes, and the corners of his lips curved slightly. She huffed and her eyebrows drew together.

"Impossible man," she muttered, turning her gaze back to the open lake. But her voice had lost the bite, and almost came out like a purr as she remembered the feeling that washed her body up and down.

"Stop fighting it," he murmured, his hand came up and started to trace lazy circles on her back. He saw her shoulders shake as she let out a shiver.

"T-this is improper," she stammered, but she made no moves against his touch. She couldn't even if she wanted to, her body had frozen itself in place, and that scorching burn over her body had returned.

He raised a hand to her face, and tucked a lock of her golden hair behind her ear. He didn't stop there, as he traced her jawline of her soft, creamy skin, letting his finger trail down her neck. She shuddered violently and felt her nipples pebble against the material of her night shift. She sat up straighter, threading her hands and squeezing her legs together as she felt a wild sensation to open her legs. She was a lady! She wasn't supposed to be feeling the way she was at the moment, but she still couldn't move. All she could do was brace herself as he continued stroking her collarbone, and she bit her lip to keep from moaning. Her body was refusing to obey her mind, as it sought out Galen's caresses. A deep feeling in the bottom of her stomach began to twist, and she felt a tingling sensation pooling between her legs.

"Damn it all to hell, stop avoiding me," his hands went strait to either side of her head, fingers burying themselves in her soft hair as he brought their lips together.

He found himself shocked as she responded, with a new hunger. This time her small tongue flicked against his lip. With her boldness, she was rewarded with a deep rumble of approval from the warrior, and his tongue dipped into her mouth, sparing against hers. Her palms splayed on his chest, and she started to shift to her knees on the dock, before boldly climbing into his lap, straddling his waist. Another deep, primal rumble was torn from him, and she felt herself smiling. A small victory in her heart swirled around her, blinding her and enhancing her senses. She praised the Light he hadn't worn a shirt. She named everything holy in the world and silently praised it all that he had come to her like this, so she could openly explore his beautiful body. It rose and fell in all the right places, and with all the years of wearing plate and wielding swords, his body was perfectly cut.

Galen felt his breeches growing tighter, and it produce an exquisite pain and pleasure at the same time. He wanted to loosen them desperately, but he had Marcail's legs hugging his hips, and her beautiful bottom planted right on his lap. He feared one wrong move would send her flying for the house. Her hands explored him openly, as they trailed from his shoulders, down to his chest, and she stroked his abs in small circles, coming dangerously close to his erection. As she explored him, he drifted a large hand up her skirts, feeling her slender legs and naked thighs. A sharp intake of air came from her, but still returned his feverish kisses, and dug her fingers into his sides. His hand drifted over her woman's mound, and she felt herself freeze, as if time had stopped in that very moment.

He fumbled with something on himself, and then suddenly let out a tiny sigh of relief. Then his kisses turned hotter, more demanding and possessive. It was as if he were never going to have enough of what she was giving him, but he still desperately demanded more. He wanted so much more of this, he _needed_ this, especially from her. His hands both came to her round bottom, and he grasped it in his hands, squeezing and then pulling her core against his rod. His hands worshiped her creamy, warm skin as he squeezed and stroked her. She gasped, throwing her head back as she felt the heat radiating from him into her nether folds. He growled in pleasure as he felt her cleft through her soaked panties. _That didn't take long_, he thought, smugly.

He pushed his cheek against her neck, trailing kisses from her shoulders and breathing in the smell of wisteria on her. He brought his kisses up to her soft neck, burying his face in her hair, searching for her weak spot. It didn't take long, as he flicked his tongue against it. She gasped again, her breathing becoming thicker and heavier. Then she did something that stopped his heart and almost spilled him right there. She began swiveling her hips, grinding her hot, slick flesh against his rod. She was being devoured by their passion, losing herself completely in the moment, rocking her soaked nether lips against him. It was torture, as he hissed and tried to pull himself back. He did not want to spill his seed like this, and trying to calm himself down with her softness sliding up and down his throbbing head. He had to slow himself down, but keep her happy.

He took his hand, sliding around her middle and dipped it in her panties. The other hand still cupped her smooth bottom, holding her against him. He swirled his finger into the cleft of her folds, and began moving in small circles. She cried out, backing her luscious breasts away from him. He wanted nothing more than to rid herself of that thin night rail and cloak that was still wrapped around her shoulders, but giving her the release she needed was more important. She rocked against his hand, as he twirled her nub with his calloused fingerpad. He could tell she was so close to her release, and was a little surprised at how wound up she already was.

Marcail had never experienced such a sensation before, and she didn't want it to stop. Her soft cries seemed to encourage what he was doing to her. She grasped his shoulders, grounding her and pulling herself into his chest, and nipping at his ear. She felt the twisting pit in her stomach winding tighter and tighter, until she almost thought she couldn't stand it. When she felt him use his knuckles on her, that's when it all came crashing down in such wonderful bliss, as white sparks filled her vision and her body convulsed. She cried out his name, and Galen felt himself smile all over, knowing he had made her scream his name in her pleasure. It was the most rewarding and pleasurable feeling he had in a very long time. She clung to him, trembling and her nub still throbbing and the convulsions slowed down. Her breathing was ragged and her skin was coated in a thin sheen of lover's sweat.

Galen began to reach for her again, to show her that there was still a lot more to explore. He wasn't finished, not by a long shot. He buried his head in her hair when the least desirable noise came from across the lake.

"Galen!" A voice called, and he immediately recognized it as Lavena's voice. He tried to ignore it, but she called again. Marcail, still shaking and recovering her breathing pulled back and looked over her shoulder to see one of his sisters calling for him at the kitchen window.

"Galen is she okay? What are you two doing out there?" Lavena called out. The mage yipped, as her senses suddenly came to her. She quickly hopped off of the warrior's lap and stood. She immediately knew that was a bad idea, as she felt dizzy.

"We're coming back," Galen called back, as he saw her turn and walk back to the house. He shifted his eyes to the mage, and instantly knitted his brows in concern. She wobbled on her legs, and her skin had paled almost to the same color as when she was sick. He was on his feet in an instant, coming to her side just as her knees gave out from under her. Catching her, he grasped her by her elbows.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes," she said, weakly. "I'm just... a little light headed."

"Has this ever happened before?" He asked, trying to steady her, but she began to pull down on his arms as she crouched down into a sitting position.

"What?" She asked him, her eyes dazed and blank as she was still coming down from her high.

"I mean, have you been this light headed before after your release?"

"My," she looked at him quizzically, "release?"

He raised an eyebrow, as she suddenly realized what he was asking. Her eyes snapped open and she blushed furiously. She jumped to her feet again as she sobered quickly. Reality came falling back into place, piece by piece as she realized what she had just done. She slapped a hand to her mouth and looked at him in absolute horror. Her eyes grew wide and her face burned with shame. She did the only thing she could at that moment, she turned and ran. Marcail heard her name being called, but it quickly stopped as soon as she was off of the dock. She felt hot tears in her eyes as she raced into the house, almost knocking over Lavena. She murmured an apology as she kept going until she reached her room. She yanked her door open and leaned her back to it to close it, as she her back down the door and sat.

Her thoughts raced as fast as her heart and breath did as she undid the clasp of the cloak around her shoulders and it pooled to the ground. She felt herself cooling down, and settling a little more without the uncomfortable warmth hugging her. Why had she let that night elf do those things to her? Why had her body cried out for more of his touch? Sure, his kisses were sweet, but she had never known such an ecstasy had ever existed in life before. Was that what lovers did? Was she supposed to do that with Nellan? Her body jerked in displeasure with the image of Nellan doing that to her instead of Galen. She felt angry, and a little betrayed by her mother. Why had she never told her of this? Of course she knew what sex was and having children, but she never really knew about that sweet wave of high her body had surrendered to Galen. Then, she blushed, thinking of trying to have the conversation with her mother. Perhaps this was just something she needed to discover on her own. Perhaps this was a conversation to have only between her lover and herself. Marcail pulled her knees in close to her body, wrapping her arms around her legs and dipping her forehead into her lap. This was not good.

.

Galen watched as Marcail's honey-colored hair whipped around while she ran away from him. He felt every good emotion bled from his chest all the way down to the dock, and seeped between the cracks of the planks, settling with the water beneath it. He watched her push past his sister and disappear into the house. He really wanted to chase her down, to hold her and comfort her and tell him what was going though her mind. Unfortunately, Lavena still stood there, looking back and forth between Marcail in the house, and him out on the dock. He shook his head vigorously, and marched up the dock back to the house.

"What happened, Galen? That girl was positively terrified!" His sister asked, as his footsteps met the porch, her eyes wide in concern behind those leaf tattoos. He grunted as his face grimaced with partial embarrassment and a stab of pain that she ran off without a single word to him. His sister quickly reached out and grabbed his arm, halting him from going further into the house. "I asked you a question."

"I won't say a word," he looked down at her hand on his biscep, and then met her gaze. "You will have to speak to _her._" He growled, shaking his arm away from her and showing her his still shirtless back. He entered his room and quietly shut his door, trying to save any more noise from bothering his family any more. He threw himself on the bed, tossing an arm over his eyes and let out a deep, fulfilling sigh. His ears quickly tried to pinpoint where Marcail was in her room above him. The floorboards betrayed him, as he didn't hear a single sound. Not even from the house settling. It was as still as a moonwell at night. He let out another sigh and tried to force his body into a deep slumber.

.

Hayden ran through the Court of the Sun, as dusk was approaching in the sky, brushing past groups of nobles that were gathered in circles in the square. He heard voices and gasps of distress behind him, but he didn't bother to turn around and apologize. _They found her. They finally found her!_ Hayden thought to himself. His mother told him where to find his father, as he dashed up the steps to the Sunfury Spire. He immediately veered to the left as he came in through the entrance to the palace. A wave of nostalgia hit him as he remembered when the Spire was occupied by royalty. That was long ago.

His steps slowed as his feet crossed the threshold of the mage's library. He strolled past all the novice mages, speaking to the masters, searching for books, and focusing hard on practice spells. He didn't want to draw attention to where he was going. Technically, a blood elf would have to be invited in to his father's office at the library, including him, but he was not going to let this one go. He turned behind a book stack, and walked down the isle of bookshelves to the end of the wall. Pushing some books out of the way, and pulling the lever carefully, the door swung open without a sound. Hayden rolled his eyes at how cheesy a "secret" entrance was. When his father acquired the office, he had a bookshelf placed on the door and the door handle hidden behind books. He glanced behind his shoulder, saw that the coast was clear, and entered into the spiral staircase that lead to the office. Closing the door behind him, he heard distressed voices above him. He moved soundlessly, like a rogue in stealth as he eavesdropped on the conversation.

"I am sure of it, she has been taken to Kalimdor," the familiar voice of Nellan spoke. "The rangers have all agreed on it."

"I could care less what the rangers think, they could be further from the truth than we know it. We lack hard facts." He heard his father snap back at the paladin.

"We have nothing else to go on, Fergus." A voice he didn't recognize spoke back.

"Magister Fergus," Nellan started, "It's not just the rangers that have confirmed it. I also have spies in all the major cities of the Alliance, and they are all reporting of a mysterious mass murder in Ironforge almost a week ago. They reported two figures moving toward the Deeprun Tram. If that indeed is your daughter, then my best guess is they have switched continents."

"'Best guesses'," the elder mage mocked. "Is this truly all you have for me?"

"Tread carefully, Fergus," the third voice said. "Underestimating my son would be a terrible mistake." _So this must be Orick Lightbringer._ Hayden thought to himself.

"I want my daughter back!" Hayden heard his father's voice crack, and then the air around them grew awkwardly silent.

"We will find her, Magister." Nellan's stressed voice answered. "This attack was vicious, and done in a mana-starved state. There is no one else who could be as powerful as to take out almost 30 spell casters at once, and draining them of all their mana. This attack has Marcail written all over it."

"I wish I could believe you, Nellan, I really do."

"It is my top priority, to bring your daughter back alive and unharmed." The young paladin answered. Hayden heard the familiar sarcastic scoff that was his father's.

"Don't try to make me believe that you actually care for her, Nellan. I've known from the very beginning she is not your first choice."

The tension loomed over them like a thick fog, or heavy humidity, where it hurt to even breathe in the room.

"No, Magister, I will not lie to you. I do not love her, but honor and duty mean more to me than such trivial things as love."

"So you do believe love is trivial?" Fergus demanded. Hayden felt his eyebrows shoot up. He had never heard his father speak so passionately about anything other than honor and duty.

"What is this Fergus? You're putting my son on trial for not loving your daughter? You yourself married for a political match," Orick pointed out.

"Yes. Indeed I did," the elder mage sighed. "But I grew to respect my wife, admire her and even love her dearly over the years we were married. I was a fool for thinking that my experiences would work for my own children." His voice echoed deep regret.

"Well it's way too late to start growing a conscience now," Orick snapped, feeling no sympathy for his son's future father-in-law. "If you back out of this, I won't rest until I see you lose everything. And I do mean _everything._"

The cruelness of his words boiled acid into the room, as Hayden felt his own concern skyrocket for his father. "Let us take our leave, Nellan. We have work to do."

The young mage heard the stomping sounds of plate armored boots on wood, as they reached the stairs. Hayden casted an invisibility spell on himself, and held his breath as the two paladins down the staircase and out of the office. Then he heard his father let out a loud roar of pure torment and frustration. He heard the sound of books crashing to the floor as Hayden walked up the spiral staircase to watch his father push over a bookcase. The invisibility spell faded, and the young mage allowed himself to be seen. His father looked up with his fists clenched at his sides, teeth baring, and the pure arcane magic pulsated off of him. They stood there, staring back at each other before his father fell to one knee. Hayden rushed to his side, even though their relationship was strained, he still had the instinct of a good son. The young mage carefully placed a hand on his father's shaking shoulder.

"I've ruined my daughter, Hayden," Fergus Dawnfire's voice wavered, reflecting pain and guilt. Hayden was struck speechless. He believed he would never hear those words coming from his father. Not in his lifetime. "I've really ruined her."

"Don't talk like that. We'll find Marcail, Father." A strong determination rose in his voice. His father let out a bitter laugh, as he blinked back hot tears.

"I pray that if we do, we can find a way to keep her out of the Lightbringer's clutches. I never thought or believed they would be this ruthless in their quest for Marcail and her unique powers." A hand scrubbed down his face in despair.

"What do you mean, Father?" The elder mage finally made eye contact with his son, and his brows knitted in concern.

"Hayden, what I am about to tell you must never, ever leave this room. Don't even repeat it to your mother."

.

_There you go! Another chapter down! I'm going to start making my chapters longer, because actually haven't even started writing the ending to this yet. As I explained my writing style before, I write my stories in bits and pieces, writing in scenes when they hit me, and quickly jot them down. Then I have to go back in, edit them, and try and tie them together. I don't want you guys to read my jumbled thoughts, kind of like my last two books. Some of you were able to understand my crazy writing, but it didn't have the quality that this story has, now that I proofread and reread the story a few times before posting it._

_Thank you all for your continued support, I am very grateful. An artist loves hearing feedback, so please, give me your constructive criticism! Even if you think it might be a little mean (don't flame me, please), I would like to hear what you think. I feel like there's always room for improvement. My best reviewers tell me what they like and don't like about the story, and I can tailor it to fit my readers better._

_Thanks again! Until next time._

_Cheers,_

_Chaser_

…

…

_Update 5/12/13: So I noticed that I left out a big part of this chapter, and I just reread it now. UGH I hate it when this slips up. Anyway, sorry about that! I am still continuing this story, I'm just having a lot of real life issues._


	15. Chapter 15

The sounds of the deep forest echoed in Marcail's ears. Rustling leaves as a breeze blew through the trees, water running in the distance, frogs croaking, the occasional bird chirping, the sound of a woodpecker on bark; it all sounded unbridled and natural. She rolled over in the soft linen sheets and breathed in deep. She did not want to leave the comfort of the featherbed she was resting on. She curled up with a pillow, hugging it close to her body and nestled her head deeper into the softness. No, she was not getting out of this bed, even for a tornado.

It had been a while since she had woken up so peacefully. She was still extremely groggy, and remembered how awful trying to sleep had been. First of all, her heart and mind would not stop racing. She tried to tell herself a story that would keep her from thinking of Galen. It hadn't really worked, and she had been at it until the first trickle of light came in through the window. When sleep had alluded her at last, she was so relieved that it had been a dreamless sleep, instead of Kael'Thas coming to her, or worse, Galen.

The sound of a knock at the door made her eyes fly open.

"Marcail?" She heard Lavena's voice. "I just brought you some food. You slept well through breakfast and we have all just finished our lunch."

"Oh, please come in," her voice rasped as the first few words spoken since her deep sleep roughly came from her throat. She hadn't meant to sleep through half the day.

The door opened, and Lavena entered, wearing a sage green dress, with long, flowing sleeves that reached her knees. It had been tailored with an empire waist, with a wide, white ribbon wrapped under her breast. She carried another tray of food, as she glided through the doorway, closing it behind her and coming to the bed. The breeze picked up the growing wisteria, dangling on the canopy of her bed and brought a whiff of the flowers to her nose. It wasn't as strong as when she first arrived last night. Perhaps it was the smell of the warm, toasted sandwich that was playing to her senses more, as her stomach growled with hunger.

"I'm glad I came," a light laugh escaped the priestess. "It seems you could use some nourishment." She placed the tray on the nightstand beside the bed and sat down on the edge of the bed. Marcail rose into a seated position as she reached for the plate.

"Thank you," the mage said, as she put the plate in her lap and picked up the bread. "Ciabatta bread? Wow, did you make this yourself?" She was impressed as she picked at the crust and it crackled in response.

"Actually, Isla baked the bread this morning. She's quite the chef, she gets hold of such amazing ingredients from around the world and brings them here. She's helping make the food for the festival that's coming up in a few days." Marcail nodded in response, a little anxiety pricked at her with the thought of being surrounded by tons of night elves, with no magic to defend herself with and no escape. She took a generous bite into the sandwich, and was rewarded with the savory flavor of roasted boar, spinach leaves, tomatoes, and Stormwind brie. Her eyes lit up as she locked eyes with the priestess. Lavena just smiled back.

"I know, it's good, isn't it? For something so simple, you wouldn't expect it to be that good. But Isla makes sure everything is fresh. She harvests the plants from her garden that's a little ways into the forest. She's also sure to bake bread every morning."

"When does she get the time to train? I mean, feeding such a large family must take a lot of work for just one person."

"She likes to get up early and stay busy, and when she's here she volunteers to cook all the meals. But we're usually not all together like this; we all have our work that takes us away from home." Lavena cocked her head to the side. "How do you normally get your meals at home? Can you cook?"

"No," Marcail shrugged. When the priestess looked confused, she elaborated. "My mother can cook, but she doesn't like to do it all the time. We have servants and a regular cook in my home that make our meals. When I'm not home, I mostly just eat in taverns and inns, and buy food that I can preserve on the road when I'm far away from civilization."

"Would you like to learn?" The priestess asked. Marcail's face grew white.

"Oh no. That's a bad idea. Every time I have been in the kitchen, I set things on fire or I put too much salt in something, it's just horrible. Our family cook tried to teach me, but she gave up after a while. She declared me a catastrophe in the kitchen, and said the closest she would let me come to cooking again would be to wash dishes." The priestess laughed at the tale, and Marcail responded with a dark look. "Don't laugh. I tried my hardest."

"Forgive me," Lavena tried to straighten her face, "but it is actually a funny story." The priestess giggled again, and quickly covered her mouth. Marcail loosened her shoulders and relaxed a little more.

"I suppose it is," she sighed, and took another bite of her sandwich.

"Come now, don't be all glum because of that. If it really bothers you that much, then you should change it. Work hard in the kitchen because it doesn't come as easily to you as it does with others. When you accomplish it, you will be more rewarded because of how hard you worked. But don't just sit here wallowing." The white-haired priestess replied. The mage chewed and reflected on the advice. When she swallowed, she spoke.

"I know you are right," she sighed. "But I honestly do not wish to learn."

"That's fine."

"I would, however, like to continue tailoring with you."

"We can do that." She nodded. Lavena turned her head and gazed beyond the window, to the forest. "I also came up here to see if you were okay. Late last night, you seemed upset and it looked like my brother was the cause of it." Marcail accidentally bit the inside of her cheek, hard. She reached for the cloth napkin on the table and quickly covered her mouth as the metallic taste of her blood intruded her mouth.

"I just wanted you to know that my father and I do not wish harm on you." Lavena's face turned back to her. Marcail swallowed the rest of her bloody food and tried to speak quickly.

"Don't worry," she mustered up all her reassurance, "I am fine."

"Are you?" Lavena asked again, tilting her head with a pained expression. "I'm worried about you, and I want you to know you can be open with me."

_Don't trust them._ A familiar male voice echoed in her mind.

"I understand, Lavena, but I will be fine." She repeated herself, and saw the knowing hurt flash quickly in Lavena's eyes.

"If you insist," the priestess rose, and started for the door. When she opened it and was just about to leave, she turned around and met the mage's eyes once again. She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it.

"If you need anything just let me know." Lavena said, and with that she nodded and closed the door behind her.

.

Galen flexed his fist, opening and closing his main sword hand. He sat at his desk in his father's study while he was brainstorming the letters he should write to his party members. It had been a little over a week since they disappeared, and they needed an explanation. The twin dwarves were probably anxious for their payments as well. But he was still hesitant to send any word to his friends. Would they understand his actions? If Marcail had been left alone with someone else, they would have killed her on the spot. He also didn't leave on such good terms with Darrick. Galen leaned back in the chair, sighing deeply and he brought a palm to cover his closed eyes.

At the very least he should tell them that he was safe. With that thought, Galen took out a few pieces of parchment and took a quill from the inkwell. He jotted down explaining he was in a safe place, but couldn't say anything more for fear of his letters reaching the wrong hands. He explained that their plan was still in effect, and to be patient. He said they would all know where to find him if they really needed him. He left a cryptic message of where he really was, figuring that Darrick would find him. He folded up his letters and thought of sending an extra message asking about Sarah reversing the spell, but he shrugged it off. He could do that later. He started walking toward the enchanted mailbox when he ran into Lavena.

"Pardon me, Brother," she said politely, and started to walk past him when Galen touched her arm.

"Where did you just come from?" He asked, his brows lowering.

"I brought Marcail some lunch, I figured she would be hungry." She squinted her eyes in confusion. However, Galen knew that look all too well. She wasn't confused at all, she was searching for answers to confirm her suspicions. "I also asked her what transpired last night."

"What did she say?" He asked, nonchalantly.

"I don't know," she raised an eyebrow, "what do you think she said?"

"I'm not interested in your games," he waved his hand to dismiss her, as if she were one of his trained soldiers. He turned his back and started toward the front door.

"Whatever game_ you_ are playing, I think it would be wise for you to stop." She suggested.

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Lavena," he growled, as he jerked open the front door, and slammed it behind him. The priestess sighed after him, rolling her eyes.

.

"Darrick! I must speak with you!" Sarah cried, as she burst into the library of the Cathedral in Stormwind. Knowing Darrick regularly advised novice paladins there, she sought him out as soon as she received her letter from Galen. She held it high above her head, triumphantly, as multiple paladins looked up from their studies to stare at her. Most of them glared at her, from either being interrupted or from her demonic presence, she didn't know or care. Darrick's attention immediately switched from the scrawny emerging adult in mail armor to the warlock in amethyst robes, tailored to accentuate the swell of her large breasts. Darrick sharply inhaled at the sight as his blood ran hot.

"Excuse me, please." He said to the boy, as he quickly met her and whisked Sarah out of the library and out of the Cathedral.

"Embarrassed to be seen with me? Or do you think I'll burst into flames from being on holy ground?" She mocked him, as he turned to face her on the steps.

"You can't go bursting into the halls of the Cathedral, shouting like a madwoman when there are lessons being taught." He chided her, as he tried to pull her down the steps to follow him.

"This is important, though. We need to speak with Galen, and now we might have a clue as to where he is." She snapped, jerking her arm from the paladin.

"Hush, Sarah!" His brown eyes desperately trying to keep her from telling the whole city of their operations. He lowered his voice and stepped back up the stairs so they were level with each other. He stared back into her blue eyes and Sarah's mouth snapped shut. She had never seen Darrick look at her in such a way, with such a dire need for her to comply with his words. Sarah never guessed that the paladin even harbored intense emotions, he always seemed so calm and indifferent about his surroundings. Now, it was like she was looking into a stranger's dire and intense gaze. She suddenly found her eyes fastening on his lips, taking in their shape and compared it to most other men's lips she had kissed before.

"Sarah?" He asked, as her eyes snapped back to meet his. "Are you listening to anything I'm saying?"

"I'm sorry, no," she admitted. The paladin sighed, checking their surroundings.

"Let's just go to my quarters," he gritted, turning abruptly, "we can discuss our next move."

"Are women even allowed in there?" The warlock couldn't help but ask. She was half looking to get a rise out of him, and the other half actually wondered if this were true. A frustrated scoff came from him.

"Yes, they are."

"I thought you were all sworn to chastity or whatever," she shrugged, elongating her strides to catch up with him. He glanced over at her, before looking ahead of him.

"After a certain period of time, we are allowed to pursue courtship." He explained roughly. "But that is unimportant. Let's make haste, I feel like someone is watching us."

.

A cloaked figure in the shadows of the late afternoon secured the black cloth around it's face, as it watched Darrick and Sarah's exchange on the Cathedral steps. When they finally started walking from the steps, a deep voice bellowed.

"Hey! You! Come out of there!" A Stormwind guard marched over to the dark alleyway, drawing his sword. The cloaked figure quickly withdrew a poisoned knife, and with deft accuracy, threw it, landing right in the guard's throat as he was about to enter they alley. The guard collapsed instantly, and let out a choking breath, reaching toward the alleyway. Then he slumped over, dead. The figure's gloved black hand emerged into the light, grabbed hold of the guard's arm, and dragged his corpse into the alley as the darkness swallowed them up.

.

Darrick took Sarah into the barracks he lived in. It looked almost like an inn, but holy sigils and candles decorated every corner, warding off any evil spirits. She felt her hair rise on the back of her neck, as a trickle of fear shimmied down her spine. She was not welcome here, and she could hear the whispers of her minions, begging their master to leave. Still, she followed in Darrick's footsteps as they climbed the stairs up to Darrick's dormitory. They walked down a hallway, and then he searched his pockets for his keys. Sarah watched as he sorted through the keyring until he found the right one. He turned it in the keyhole, and the familiar click of the latch oddly soothed him. Usually, he wasn't this on edge. He opened the door and held it open for Sarah.

"Thank you," she managed, and stepped in over the threshold. Taking a look inside, Darrick had a decently sized room. She expected a dormitory-like setting, but he had room for a queen bed. An impressive bookshelf stood on the farthest wall, and a few trunks were neatly stacked beside it. Her eyes settled on writing desk extended from the right wall with it's back toward the door, so when someone entered his room or walked by his doorway, he only had to glance up from his desktop to see them. Sarah fluttered into the room, and hopped on the bed, just as the paladin closed the door.

"Wow," she said, bouncing in her seat, testing the mattress. Her large breasts swayed with the movement. "You have a much softer and nicer bed than I have. I thought you paladins were supposed to be tough." She grinned slyly at him. Darrick frowned, as he watched her continue to fidget.

"We didn't come here to test my mattress," he felt his body flush in heat with his words. He wanted to curse himself for even bringing her here, for as soon as he had mentioned going to his quarters, a fire breathed into him like he hadn't had before.

The warlock stopped her bouncing to see that he was blushing. Blushing! Sarah wanted to laugh, because the whole situation was absurd. Why was he embarrassed? He shouldn't care about what a young warlock thought. Especially her.

"No, we didn't." She shrugged, but a smile formed on her lips. "I wanted to talk about Galen."

_Screw Galen!_ His lusts urged him. _Just lay back and I'll be the only man you'll ever think about._ "I'm listening." He replied with all the poise he could bring out for the moment. Light, this was infuriating! Shame replaced embarrassment, as he went to his desk and reached in one of the drawers.

"Galen sent me a letter," she began again, "Marcail was responsible for the deaths in Ironforge, and as we thought, they are in Kalimdor." She watched as the paladin removed a brown glass bottle and yanked the cork from it. "They must be at his home estate, I can't think of anywhere safer for him to be. With his sisters always popping in and out of that house, just a few of them can handle any incidents. What really troubles me is how she was able to use her magic with it bound to that necklace." She watched as the paladin took a long drink from the dark bottle. "I've scoured over grimores, spoken to some of the most powerful warlocks in Stormwind, but I still can't find an answer for that."

"Light, Sarah, I hope you didn't attract any attention." He glared.

"No, I didn't. Warlocks love dangerous and forbidden spells, and the magisters perform spells like mine, frequently. No one would notice a student asking for help on an illegal spell." She explained. Shame hit the paladin again as he was hit with the remembrance of how awful the demonic path can be.

"Can you reverse the spell?"

"Almost," she said, and watched as the paladin took another long drink. "I'm getting closer to the answer, though. Have you found anything?" He put the cork back on the brown bottle and swallowed the remaining liquid.

"All of my solutions aren't pretty for either one of you two. She might survive them, but you definitely won't." He answered, leaning up against the wall. He crossed one arm over his chest and brought a hand to his growing mustache and beard. "I really hope you find something because I'm running out of ideas."

"I'm working on it. As soon as I have it, I'm going to Teldrassil." She explained. "I don't know how Gorim and Thorim are holding up, they probably want to kill her even more now."

"Do they know where he took the blood elf?"

"I don't think so, but he didn't mention anything about them in his letter. Did you get one?"

"Just a very short one. He just said that everything is fine and he would contact me again."

"Hmm," Sarah furrowed her brows. "Well, I'll write to him and say that we're working together."

"Are we?" Darrick asked, with a hint of suggestion behind his voice. Sarah was taken aback, as she felt the boldness in his statement. She tilted her head and almost wanted to ask, but then shook her head and figured she was just imagining things.

"I think so. Anyway, I could use your help on tracking down a holy book." She returned back to business. "A grimoire I think can fix our problem references it frequently. It's called _Deeper Light-Binding Spells and Blessings_, and I think it's in the Royal Library."

"Can't you retrieve it?" He asked.

"It would look less suspicious if a paladin were borrowing such a book," she gave him a cynical look. "Honestly, haven't you ever participated in espionage before?" Darrick rolled his eyes and reached for the bottle on his desk to take another drink.

"What is that you keep drinking? You're a paladin, you don't need health potions."

"It's not a health potion," he grunted, before tilting the bottle back.

"Are you _drinking_ in your holy dormitory?" Her jaw dropped. She had never seen Darrick act like this before. "That's got to be against the rules."

"For your information, it's _not_ against the rules. You don't know a paladin's code, why do you keep bringing it up?"

"Because I've never seen you act like this before." She stared back at him, and he shrugged.

"Maybe you haven't been around me enough to know what I'm really like." He locked on her eyes, brows furrowed and teeth grinding. She flinched, surprised that he was so tense with her. She gathered up her pride and reminded him what he was really like.

"I know exactly what you're like. Ever since I first met you, you were so stuck up and marinated in your own pride and arrogance. You had your head so far up your ass that when you first met me, you refused to shake my hand or even be in the same room with me."

"That's not true."

"It is true! You were so bound by your paladin's oath that you had no interest in even getting to know a person like me."

"I don't trust a lot of people when I first meet them," he said in defense.

"That's a lie. I watched you with Marcail." She stood up and put her hands on her hips. "You trusted a _blood elf_ more over a member of your faction, even your own race!"

"If I offended you, Sarah, I do apologize," Darrick rushed and closed the space between him. He placed a plated hand on her shoulder, and realized there was actual hurt in her eyes. "I never meant anything personal. When you started working with Galen, I was fresh out of the academy. The prejudices of my superiors were instilled into me. Paladins are trained to rid Azeroth of dark magic and the undead, and I bought into everything that a naïve paladin would, just to try and become stronger."

"I know that," she huffed, looking at the floor. "I just didn't think that all paladins would treat me with disdain. Especially ones that I would have to work with so closely."

"I don't think that way anymore," he offered a smile. "I think you are a remarkable person, Sarah." She tilted her head up to his face, and his hand drifted cradle the back of her neck. His warm brown eyes glittered back at her and she found her gaze drifting down to his lips for the second time that day.

"Why the sudden change of heart?" She caught her breath.

"Because you have so much spirit. You're an excellent fighter, and you fight for good. Even if your methods aren't what I believe in, you have done good things for this world." He felt himself lean his neck to lower himself a little bit to her lips. She hesitated in his arms, but he felt her hands move from his chest up to his shoulders. Then she tilted her head up to receive his kiss. Her heart was pounding as the thought of carnal acts flashed through her mind. She had never felt a paladin's touch before, and part of her was racing with excitement to find out what Darrick would feel like.

Just before their lips were about to graze each other, she smelled the liquor on his breath. It wasn't a lot to overpower her, like a lover's romp at a tavern, but it was strong enough to strike her with doubt. She jerked back and pushed him away from her. Darrick's eyes fluttered open with confusion.

"You know, warlocks aren't all trollops. Despite what you may have heard."

"What?" Darrick asked softly, still caught in her smell and softeness.

"I don't think you are clear enough in the head to realize what you are doing," she explained, pulling herself from his embrace. "I do not go sleep around with random men, and I will not be your drunken plaything."

"Drunken plaything? Sarah, it isn't like that at all."

"Is it? I'm not going to make this thing awkward, because when we are on the battlefield, I want to make sure the person at my back isn't thinking of just letting a sword slip so you can be rid of a one-night mistake."

"No," Darrick tried to slow her down, but she wasn't listening to it. "I would never do that!"

"Just get me the book, Darrick. We can stick to what we know we're good at. Let's not change it." She gave him a curt nod, and scurried out the door, letting it close behind her. He was not going to go after her, he just couldn't. Going after her would mean that he did truly care for her. Perhaps, if she thought that he was only interested in her luscious body, then she would stay away from him. He wouldn't have to stand the mockery and guilt of caring for a warlock.

..

..

..

_I know I promised longer chapters, but after sitting on this chunk of the story for so long without any idea of where to go next, I really wanted to update the story with it anyway. Next chapter I promise! _


	16. Chapter 16

The Moonblade family all sat around the family dinner table that night, making small talk, just as the night before, to keep distracting the awkward subject of Galen's guest.

"How is my dress coming along, Lavena?" Melluna inquired.

"Very well." The only white-haired family member replied, flashing a smile. "I want you to come by and try it on. I'd like to make some alterations, and make sure I'm on the right track."

"I am so looking forward to the midsummer festival," Melluna smiled around the table. "I'm also glad that we all are going to be together. Mother will be pleased, and she will be there, too. In spirit."

"I remember her wanting white roses and mostly white decorations," Isla chimed in.

"Your mother said how much she loved the color," their father nodded his head, as he brought a goblet of wine to his lips.

"The forest is so full of color, she kept saying how she didn't want her decorations to distract from the beauty of the grounds." Melluna remembered. She looked over at the only two family members that ate in complete silence. Darine, still angered by Galen's actions, kept shooting shriveling glares at her brother. Galen was ignoring them, but he was also ignoring everyone else.

His mind was farther from the kitchen, upstairs and in the guest room where Marcail was. Her first day in his home hadn't gone how he wanted it to. He wanted her to follow him around, to keep a close watch. He hoped that she would want to be close to him because of their familiarity, but that was not happening. His male pride had been slightly wounded when she wouldn't speak to him after they shared the intimate act the night before. He had hoped she would come back to slake his own burning desire, as the sample he got last night did nothing to encourage patience. Usually with women, he had the luxury of waiting. He could wait for however long it took for the female to make up her mind, after all, he could entice another into his bed while waiting. That thought did not seem as appealing as it did a month ago.

He could already tell, if he went to a tavern, he would be comparing every little detail of his partner to the blood elf in his captivity. The sighs, the moans, the way she had molded to his hand. He saw the look of pure lust in her eyes, and she enjoyed what he was doing to her. If only she didn't keep running off whenever she came to her senses. If only Lavena had just stayed in bed last night, he could have kept the blood elf with him longer. He held back a grimace as his orbs at his groin tightened. This was just perfect.

"Galen?" Melluna's voice distracted him from his silent agony.

"What?" He barked out as his sister winced in return. Suddenly, he felt lower than dirt. "I'm sorry, I have a headache," his lie gritted out of his clenched teeth as he tried to relax his shoulders.

"I will make you some tea after dinner," Isla volunteered.

"Thank you, Isla. What were you saying, Mel?"

"I just wanted to ask if you needed any help in getting ready for the festival. With it being a little less than a week away, I was hoping you could get your suit cleaned." The young druid suggested.

"It's fine, it's not like I've been wearing it frequently during this past year." He sighed.

"Well," Darine finally spoke up, "I'm more concerned about the _sin'dorei_ sitting upstairs in the guest room. What in hellfire are we supposed to do with _her_?"

"Darine," Tanavar warned his eldest daughter. "I will not have any more fighting in this house."

"What do you suppose we do with her, father?"

"Your brother has graciously volunteered to find a solution for this problem." The blind warrior turned his head to where he knew his son was sitting. Tanavar gave a gentle nod.

"Sure," Galen's voice reeked with sarcasm. "While I'm at it, I think I'll get us our immortality back, and find a genie lamp in Tanaris. Maybe I'll wish to become a dragon."

"Galen!" An appalled gasp came from Darine as she couldn't believe how her elder brother had just spoken to their father.

"I'll figure it out," Galen growled, as he pushed himself from the dinner table and stalked off into the backyard. The glow of the lanterns guided a path into the forest, and he followed it. Taking him to the only place he could get away from everyone and think.

.

Marcail tossed and turned in the large bed, trying to find a comfortable position to fall asleep. She hoped the darkness of the room could help her sleep, but the glow from the lanterns outside were bothering her. She was thankful for the food in her belly that Lavena brought to her again, but she knew she was hiding. At some point, she would have to face Galen again. She just wished she had more time to think about what to say, but everything she acted out in her head sounded dumb. She smacked her palm against her forehead as she wished she were more experienced in this department, but all her adult life she was under her parent's thumb. So how was she supposed to meet men?

Nellan was the first male she had ever kissed. It had been quick and awkward. They had been in his family's country home, in the library, when he had shown her books he had discovered all over Azeroth on elven history. He had pulled one from his selection, and let her skim over the first chapter. Except, when she let her eyes gaze over the first few pages, she had become pretty absorbed in the material. While they were standing there, she had seen from her peripheral vision that he had gotten closer, and moved his face lower to hers. When she looked up from the text, his features softened.

"You are quite pretty," he had said. Instantly, she had blushed. Then, he reached out and cupped her face up to his, and lowered his lips to hers. She couldn't breathe, because she couldn't believe that the moment had taken such a strange turn. But when their lips were together she felt numb, like her whole body had gone into an ice block. When Nellan felt that she wasn't kissing him back, he gently let her go.

"I'm sorry, that was innappropriate." He said, drawing back.

"No, it's okay." She tried to hide her embarrassment. _What is _wrong_ with you?!_ She had demanded of herself. Most blood elf women would happily jump at the opportunity to marry someone like Nellan. Powerful, rich, and in high social standing, she would never want for anything. So why had her heart frozen over when he kissed her?

Now, after receiving Galen's kisses, she knew her relationship with Nellan would never be the same. Galen had awakened something inside her. She threw herself to turn over, and wrapped the blankets around her. She finally fell asleep just as the sky outside started to turn light.

.

After breakfast that morning, Galen found himself composing his ransom letter for Marcail's return in the study. He had paid a rogue to take it deep into Eversong Woods and nail it to a tree on the Lightbringer's country estate. The tree he picked was the first tree visible on the road to the house, so everyone would see it.

Yet, when he found himself composing the letter, he had trouble making his list of demands. He knew exactly what he wanted, but he had difficulty expressing it in the right words. He was fluent in Thalassian, but he wanted to make the right insults to go with his actions. He stared at the pages and jotted down a few things, before finally giving up and folding up the parchment in half. He tucked it in a book on his father's shelf and headed outside into the forest, where he went the night before. He didn't realize how hard it was to compose a ransom letter.

.

The mage woke up with a tray sitting beside her bed with assorted fruits and some hot cereal and honey. She hadn't heard Lavena entering her room. She hoped that she hadn't slept the day away again. She devoured her food, and then finally gathered up her courage to leave the room.

Marcail fluffed down her dark blue satin skirts as she descended the spiral staircase. The material was so fluid it seemed to take flight whenever the slightest movement was made. On her way down, she almost collided into Lavena, who was bringing up folded bolts of bright red and orange silk.

"Oh, excuse me," the blood elf pushed her back against the wall to make way. The priestess's eyes smiled through her owl tattoos as she spoke.

"Just the blood elf I was looking for!" She said, as she handed some of the material off into Marcail's arms. The smaller elf had no other option but to take the silk, else it fell to the stairs.

"Why were you looking for me?"

"Follow me, I have something to show you." Her eyes playfully danced away from the mage, and she climbed the stairs. Marcail shrugged to herself and acquiesced, as she followed the priestess back upstairs and into her room.

The multiple mannequins that had been naked were suddenly dressed with beautiful gowns. Colors splashing of spring grass, rich wine, icy turquoise, and pure white adorned the room. The grassy green dress was tapered off at the hips and was cropped to the knees. It looked like it would twirl with the wearer at every opportunity. The deep maroon gown was full-skirted, with a squared top and sleeves right above the elbow. Tiny golden beads were sewn in a pattern on black velvet trim along the edges of the gown. The light blue dress had a long mermaid skirt, and it had a butterfly-hem at the bottom, with a small train following it behind. A matching color of lace had been sewn on the trim. Then, there was a halter-style white gown with almost the whole back cut out. There was also a slit cut from the ankles to mid-thigh on the left side. Marcail approached it, tentatively fingering the tiny pearls on the soft material.

"That one is Darine's." Lavena explained. The blood elf dropped her hand as if she were caressing a giant dead slug. "This is what I wanted you to see," the night elf explained as she dumped the silk on the bed and opened a large wardrobe.

Pulling a crimson red dress from inside, she triumphantly smiled as she held it out for the blood elf to see. The material looked old, but well taken care of, like someone wore it a thousand years ago, but the material had never faded or grown stiff. The dress itself was strapless, and tapered off at the waist. It was plain, but every time the light caught it, the fabric seemed to glow in different shades of orange and yellow. Like flames.

"Oh," Marcail put her own bundle of silk aside and approached the dress. She couldn't stop herself from running her fingers along the fabric. "What material is this? I've never seen something so fine, even in the Dalaran shops."

"It is enchanted mageweave cloth." Lavena explained. "This dress was made back when tailors knew how to work the fabric, embedding every weave with a slight amount of mana." She put the dress over her shoulder as she went to the shorter green dress and removed it from the mannequin. She returned the green dress into the wardrobe and placed the red gown over the figure. The tailor stood back to admire the dress in the sun.

"It's beautiful, Lavena," the blood elf interrupted, as the flickering red still caught her eye. "But why are you showing this to me?"

"Well, I was hoping that you would wear one of my creations to the upcoming Midsummer Ball that my family is hosting."

"You're kidding."

"I most certainly am not! Why, all of my sisters are wearing my own designs, but as I was finishing the last one, I suddenly had the idea to alter this dress. It was too late, though, for me to try and start on my project with the event approaching so fast."

"So it's easier for you to start on it now? Isn't the ball like a few days away?" The priestess nodded happily.

"It's actually two days away, so I really get to put my skills to the test." She clapped excitedly, "please tell me you will say yes! You just have to make an appearance, you won't have to stay long."

"And how exactly am I supposed to just flounce through a social gathering with fifty night elves standing around? They all will kill me on sight." She sighed, the idea was so ludicrous, why in all that was light and holy was she suggesting this?

"Actually it will be closer to a hundred people. And it will only be mostly night elves. There will be a few Draenei in attendance. I don't know if they will be armed, but many of them are just high ranking officials in Darnassian society."

"Oh! That's so much better. Aren't I still the enemy?"

"Do you wish to be?" Lavena asked. Marcail almost knew how to answer that question, but when met with the genuine look of the priestess's kind eyes made her choke on her words. "I understand, we are meant to hate each other. I, for one, haven't felt anything evil or malicious inside of you."

The mage pursed her lips, wanting to warn her of getting too close. Kael'Thas would exploit that if given a chance, and Marcail would be in the backseat of it all, watching. The reminder of him stung her chest, as she recoiled in fear, spinning away from the night elf. _I will make you regret becoming friends with them._ A horrid voice echoed in her mind and she gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth and praying that she hadn't said that out loud.

"Marcail?" She asked, approaching her and raising a hand to touch her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"I'm sorry, Lavena." The mage quickly spun around, meeting her gaze. "I just remembered I had something important to tell Galen. Do you know where he is?"

"Why yes, he should be in his workshop. If you follow the first path on the right, you should find it. The lanterns will guide you there." She turned and almost ran away. She hurled a thank you over her shoulder, but doubted that the priestess would have heard it.

She had to get out of there and reach Galen. He promised to kill her if the prince took over. Anywhere was better than standing next to Kael'Thas's next victim. _It hurts, doesn't it?_ A voice inside her head whispered to her, as she ran faster down the stairs, narrowly escaping a fall, and tore out of the front door. She ran to her right, veering off into the forest, as she ducked into the shade and protection of the thick trees. Hopeful that they hid her properly from the eyes of the house, she grabbed hold of a thinner, younger tree and threw herself against it. Sobs shook through her, as she tried to clench her teeth together to try and pull herself back together. She hugged herself against the tree, panting and fighting viciously with herself. Looking up at the leaves she saw them begin to spin. Squeezing her eyes shut, Marcail tried to fight the panic with intensity and force.

_Stay out of my head, stay out of my head_, she chanted to herself. She used most of her strength to cling to the trunk of the tree, as the rough bark and hardness dug into her skin. If she grew weaker, she wouldn't have as much strength to fight him, but if she didn't fight him-

"Then I'm just as at fault." She ground out. "I can fight this! I won't give in!" Hugging the tree, she kept all her muscles clenched as she waited to hear his voice again. She stood, searching her mind for any signs that Kael'Thas was in there. When she was pretty sure she had control again, she released the breath that she didn't know she was holding. Once she caught her breath, she started to release her death grip on the tree trunk. Turning around, she thrust her back into the sturdy wood, and sank down to her seat. This battle was really getting more intense, she had never heard his voice while she was awake before. Dipping her head in between her knees and clasping her hands together, she prayed to the Light for strength.

"Please let me die if he breaks through." She sighed, releasing her head and slumping it against the tree. She slowed her breathing, trying to calm herself down. It was harder for him to break through when she was calm. Right?

After a few moments of peace, she heard the feint clanging of metal. Looking up to see where the sound was coming from. The forest echoed the sound, making it seem like it came from all directions. Marcail picked herself up, and followed the small path of stones and lanterns deeper in the forest. In just a few steps, she saw a clearing, with a solid stone cottage. Piles of metal were strewn about the yard, and a large, bellowing chimney was spewing smoke into the air. Odd, to make a fire that hot in the middle of summer.

She approached the strange home and went to the open double doors. Looking inside, there was Galen. He was facing her, but concentrating on his work. He had on a large linen shirt and leather pants, and sweat moistened down the front of his shirt. He was working on hammering metal on an anvil, his forge glowing hot behind him. As if he sensed her presence, he looked up from his work right into her eyes.

"Hey," he said, coolly, giving a half smile. He went back to give the final pounds into his work before he dropped it in a bucket of water. It sizzled and the smell of the steam wafted toward her. It was a strange smell, one of burnt bread that had caught on fire, and blended with a bitter, metallic smell. The warrior wiped his hands on a small linen towel placed on a table next to the anvil. Tossing it aside, he turned his attention to the blood elf.

"Now why have you wandered into these woods, all alone?" He asked. "You could have been killed, easily, by guards or monsters."

She stiffened as he said 'monsters'. She doubted that he viewed guards and night elves to be monsters themselves, like she did. With the exception of Lavena. Had the priestess been born Sin'Dorei, they would have been friends.

"I can manage," she said, squaring her shoulders and taking her hand from the door frame.

"It looks like you did," the night elf approached her, calmly. "You know, you took off the other night, without so much as a word to me."

"What of it?" He came closer, and though she was tempted to back away, she stood her ground.

"I want you to come to me more often." He said as he stopped right in front of her, their bodies inches apart.

"You don't command me," she said, her voice losing ferocity as her heart pounded into her chest. The smell of leather, iron, a light sweat, and rosemary surrounded her. _Sweet Sunwell_, she said to herself, as she felt herself melt a little in Galen's masculine smell.

"On the contrary, my little mage, I do. You're in enemy territory, with little hope of survival without me." Her gaze drifted down to his chest, where she knew the necklace lay with her magic. Was she crazy, or was she feeling her magic pulling her closer?

"Now, what brings you here?"

"I-" she stuttered, as he reached forward and grabbed a lock of her hair, twirling it in his fingers. "I-I was just out for a walk. I wanted to know the grounds better." She said, dumbly. He leaned into her and deeply inhaled the smell of her hair and skin at her neck. She stopped breathing.

"You came to the right place then, Princess." He stepped back, with a slight playful gaze. "Allow me to be your guide of your new royal palace." She narrowed her eyes, clearly not as amused with his nickname.

"I think I can find my way around," she tried to pull away when his words stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Did _he _seek in your dreams recently?" He asked as he released her hair. She swallowed.

"Not exactly." She replied, uncomfortably, as she shifted..

"What's 'not exactly' mean?"

"I might have heard him in my thoughts moments ago, but I was so-" she altered her words to keep her from sounding weak. "Not one hundred percent in control."

"You look like you are, now."

"Yeah. I guess," she sounded dubious.

"You'll be safe with me," he said, sounding so surely convinced. She raised an eyebrow in distrust. "Remember, I promised I would look after you."

"You are supposed to kill me if I can't bring myself back." She pointed out, and he nodded, as if he were simply agreeing with her. He would likely do what he wanted anyway. Marcail sighed.

"Come," he held his arm out, "you will find that I can be a perfect gentlemen for royalty." His eyes danced playfully. She crossed her arms, wishing to strike his grin off of his face.

"Sweet Sunwell, I'll agree to this, but only if you drop this act. I am no princess." She glared.

"Whatever you say," he returned a bigger grin, catching her arm and almost dragging her out of his blacksmith's workshop.

.

Galen promised a tour of the estate, but what he didn't mention was how large the estate really was. Their first stop was Isla's garden, where she worked in a light linen dress, pulling weeds from her large plot of land. Everything was planted in neat rows and brightly colored fruits and vegetables sprung from the dusky purple soil. She smiled at them, and tipping her straw hat that human farmers wore in the sun. She stepped away from her garden and approached them.

"Hello there," she smiled. "What are you both doing out here?" Marcail heard that as, _'What is she doing out of her cage?'_

"I was just showing our guest the grounds of our beautiful home." The warrior flashed a roguish smile. Isla nodded, and instantly returned to destroying the weeds in her garden.

"Please tell our guest that she is welcome," she said over her shoulder, in a matter-of-fact way. The blood elf knitted her brows in confusion. She turned to Galen who smiled and shrugged.

"What do you need of me?" The blood elf asked. Isla stopped pulling weeds, turned around and put her hands on her hips.

"I need nothing. You can do what you wish."

She explained to Marcail what she grew in her garden, and that most of what they ate came from her garden. When the blood elf asked if she had anyone to help her, Isla shook her head, and explained that she loved tending to the garden herself. She welcomed Marcail to come with her and learn whenever she wanted. She thanked the druid, and Galen pulled her away to their next stop on the tour.

They came to the practice ring that she saw Galen in her first night there, and quietly observed Darine's practice. Tall dummies stood next to the wall of the house, and the finely graveled ring was groomed neatly to the edges. When the female warrior caught a glimpse of her audience, she quickly put her training into full gear, showing no weakness in front of the enemy. When Marcail wanted to leave, Galen told her to wait. He watched his sister for a couple of minutes, and then started pointing out flaws in her form, and admonished her that she needed more practice. Darine turned beet red from her otherwise blue complexion, but applied her elder brother's tips into her practice. They walked away from the practice ring, heading towards the large, stone backyard.

"I think she feels threatened by you," Galen chuckled to himself, lightly amused at Darine's performance.

"I don't care," the blood elf replied, trying to sound as disinterested as possible.

They walked into the sprawling courtyard, made of staggered large stones and grass growing between them. Almost a perfect square was formed, and a few young night elves she didn't recognize were setting up whiskey barrels of different sizes and stone lanterns around the courtyard. Clustering them together at different points, and planting white flowers into the barrels. A few of them saw Marcail and either glared or ogled at her until she glared back. She pulled away from Galen and stalked off towards the lake before the warrior caught up with her.

"I want to go home, Galen." She huffed, as she walked along the shoreline of the lake, away from the house.

"You will," he replied.

"When?" She demanded, still trying to get away from all the night elves in the courtyard.

"Soon," he said, though he knew he wasn't being entirely truthful. He still had yet to send his ransom letter, or even finish it for that matter. Marcail gave him a disbelieving glance, and she turned from the dock, and tried to head deeper into the woods. Galen followed her, as she walked toward a worn path into the woods. They walked a little bit further and Marcail saw something beyond the trees. She tilted her head and steadied her path. As the trees parted for the clearing, she saw a small, stone building with a chimney. Smoke steadily escalated from the stone stack, and Marcail turned to Galen.

"Another smithy?" She asked the warrior. He tried to hide his half grin and then shook his head. She walked toward the door and pushed it open. A moonwell rested inside, with tall stone pillars holding up the arch. The glow of nature's magic beckoned the mage.

"It's actually a bath house," Galen tried to explain as she walked toward the edge of the water.

"But there's magic here."

"Of course, it's still a moonwell."

"Why would you bathe in such a powerful place?"

"It's not just for bathing. We all come here to think and heal ourselves during hard times."

She nodded, remembering her time in the bathtub in her room when the water was steaming hot. She could control the temperature with just a wave of her fingers underwater. She liked soaking in the warmth and being left alone with her thoughts. She could reflect on the day's events and prepare for the next day as her muscles soaked in the heat.

"The water also has healing properties," the warrior added. The mage continued to stare into the entrancing glow protruding from the water. Small bubbles of magic danced in the steam, escaping from the pool. The mage knelt at the water's edge and dipped her hand in. Small pulses of magic, pure and gentle, tingled at her fingertips.

"It feels so natural."

"That's because it is." Galen explained, crouching beside her. She stared into the water, until he put his hand on her shoulder. "Marcail?"

"What?" She jerked herself away from the pull of magic. _Don't let yourself heal up too much! _She forced herself to keep Kael'Thas at bay.

"Are you okay to be here?" He asked. She nodded.

"I won't let him win," she encouraged, knowing exactly what he meant. His face relaxed, and rubbed her back, trying to soothe her.

"I know, Marcail. I know you won't." He tried to comfort her. She shied away from his touch, and looked away from him. Galen suddenly felt awkward. He scolded himself, for he hadn't felt embarrassed around females in such a long time. "I want you to know, you are welcome here at any time. There is a wooden latch on the door, for privacy."

"Thanks," she said, rising from the moonwell. "I think I'd like to see the lake once more."

"Do you want company?" He offered.

"No," she shook her head. "But thank you," she turned away from him and pushed the heavy wooden door open, leaving the night elf alone in the bathhouse.

.

Sarah was abrubtly woken by the sound of an awful scratching noise coming from behind her. She became vaguely aware of the pain in her lower back, her cheek and her rear. She blinked her eyes open a few times, before remembering where she was. She was in the attic of The Slaughtered Lamb, and she had fallen asleep on a book in front of her. The scratching noise continued, and she forced her head from the table and forced her stiff body to move so she could observe the noise.

A mouse was gnawing on a floorboard, making a tiny hole in the wood. Sarah cursed the inferiority of the animal, and the state of the Inn. As she turned to devour the being with a shadowbolt, she hesitated, noting that the color of the rodent was a glowing red. The glow pulsated, like coals from a hearth. She stood, and looked closer. The mouse looked up from it's gnawing to stare back at the human.

Then, it released a demonic squeaking noise that Sarah winced at. She destroyed the animal, immediately. Demons could possess almost anything, but this was a little ridiculous. She started to turn back to her book, when another glow caught the corner of her eye. She walked toward the hole, and bent down over it, peering into the floorboards. A very faint white light echoed from the floor. Sarah pulled a loose board up, and stretched her arm into the hiding spot. Her hands clasped around a shard of something sharp. It felt like glass in her hands, and she pulled it to the surface to get a better look at it. Upon closer inspection, the item looked like a shard of glass, but reflected prismatic colors in the light, catching it and spraying the colors on the walls. She stared at it for a few moments, before deciding to place the shard in her pocket and continuing her studies. Perhaps she would take this item to Darrick after she put her books away.

.

After staying in the bathhouse for a few moments and trying to plan his next mover, Galen gave up and gathered his collection of swords from the house to take to his workshop. They needed sharpening and polishing, and now was as good a time as any. He hoisted the bag over his shoulder and walked to the smith.

He sat down in his usual chair, in front of the sharpening wheel. He pumped the pedal with his foot, causing the wheel to spin. He pushed his sword to the stone, and a burst of sparks erupted from the metal as the sound of grinding steel filled his ears. It made him sigh, and roll his head, loosening his neck. The sound of a blade against the sharpening block made him concentrate on something simple. It brought back his sanity for a short amount of time.

That time was interrupted with a knock on the door frame of his workshop.

"Hello, Galen," Keina said, smiling as he looked up from his work. She walked over to him, and he returned the friendly smile. He rose from his seat and they embraced each other. Keina's eyes watered as she breathed in the smell of metal polish and soap. She missed his smell. He stepped away from her, and grinned.

"You look like you're doing well." He said.

"I am," she beamed. "I came to see how you were fairing. I ran into Darine in town yesterday and she said you were home. Just in time for the midsummer festival!"

Galen groaned at two things. One, he was not looking forward to the midsummer festival, and two he knew his eldest sister wished Keina and he would start a relationship. He decided not to mention the latter to save himself from embarrassment.

"I am trembling with excitement," he words dripping with sarcasm.

"You should be, it's your family's turn to host. You should get some interesting performers to liven things up from last year when the Sagethorn's hosted from their home in Darnassas. It was also quite crowded."

"I have left the planning to my sisters. They have been talking about our turn to host the festival for years." He sat back down in his chair, and gestured for her to have a seat on one of the tables nearby. "Perhaps you should speak with them."

"Oh, I have," she nodded, hoisting herself up on a table and gently seating herself. "I received a letter from Ironforge. The twins have inquired about payment, but as you know, they will wait forever, if they have to. You have such a way with them."

"Oh, I don't know about that."

"Well, I haven't heard from you since we last saw each other in Ironforge," she chirped. "I have been concerned as to what happened." She lowered her voice, "and if you got to exchange our prisoner. Have you fought with her fiance at all? Did you get your rematch?" Galen's jaw tightened, and the muscles in his neck constricted, returning his attention back to inspect his blade.

"Not exactly. I haven't had much time to settle in, my family jumped on me with the festival." He explained.

"So where is she?"

"She's around. Probably in her room upstairs, or talking with Lavena in her room." He shrugged, as he pumped the pedal again.

"Wait," Keina felt her heart drop through her stomach and burst as it hit the ground beneath her. "What? She's here?"

"Yeah, where else could I have taken her?" Galen said as if it were the most obvious fact of basic knowledge. The rogue had to pick her jaw up off the floor, as she tried to gather her composure.

"She will be killed here, for sure."

"No, I've made sure of it."

"Galen, this is bad. Not just for her safety, but think about your reputation! Your family's reputation!"

"My family guarded Nordrassil for tens of thousands of years, Keina." His eyebrows lowered as he gave her a warning glance. "That is nothing to be forgotten. I can do as I please. I am not endangering anyone with her being here." He then looked away, uncertain.

"You really think that?" Keina mocked. "How can you say that after that mess she left in Ironforge?" Galen removed his sword from the sharpening wheel and stopped pumping.

"You knew?" He looked over at her in disbelief. "How did you find out?"

"I just did. I thought it was suspicious when there was a random 'explosion' that took out half of Tinkertown. Granted there are explosions there, but the gnomes aren't known for genocide when they mess up their experiments."

"She won't hurt anyone here."

"How can you be so sure?" The rogue demanded.

"Because I will kill her myself if she does." The male night elf glared with his amber eyes. Keina guiltily felt a bubble of hope surface her emotions, as she stared back at the warrior. He looked so determined, his grip on his sword flexing his muscles. His masculine features on his face enhanced his glare. His prominent brow bone and chin gave him the fierceness that she found most men lacked. Galen scanned her body with his eyes, only to meet her silver stare with a softened look. Her heart fluttered in her chest, as she felt herself blushing a little.

"Marcail and I have already spoken about the danger of that happening." He then turned his attention back to his sword.

"Why did you give her the jewel back in the first place?"

"I didn't," he said, as he stopped pedaling. "She was controlled by another being from the spirit realm. He forced her to kill and siphon mana, and if I hadn't stepped in and stopped her, I don't know how many more lives she could have taken." The rogue paled.

"She can use her magic without the jewel?"

"It was a strange circumstance, I doubt it will be repeated."

"You are so naïve to let it go on like this," Keina's hands went to her hips as she glared at Galen. "If she already got free once, who's to say it won't happen again?"

"Like I told you, I'll kill her if it comes to that."

"You can't protect her, Galen." She crossed her arms over her body. "She doesn't deserve it." The warrior ignored her and went back to his work. Keina continued to stand there, and tried to speak again when the noise of the blade sharpening grew louder as Galen pushed his sword harder against the grinding wheel. It was obvious that he had ended the conversation. The rogue felt the frustration growing, but knew there was no point in trying to talk to him anymore. She scoffed and stormed out of the shed.

Galen's amber gaze followed the rogue's retreat. She had struck a nerve when she suggested that he was trying to protect Marcail. What made him even angrier was that Keina believed that the mage didn't deserve it. He was growing frustrated at everyone's distrust with Marcail. There was something worth protecting in her, or else he wouldn't have brought her to his home.

.

In the time it took for a water droplet to fall from a leaf, the midsummer ball was upon them. A mere few days felt like a few minutes to Marcail. She had found a niche, in the most odd situation ever.

Marcail put her sapphire-colored thread in her mouth and pulled it out through her lips. She carefully held up the sewing needle to the sunlight and meticulously pushed the thread through the tiny hole. Once she successfully threaded her needle, she took hold of the crème silk cloth in an embroidery hoop, and started the pattern of flowers that Lavena taught her.

"You know, you confuse me a great deal," the priestess spoke, as she stood by her mannequin, stitching the sleeves on Melluna's dress.

"Why is that?" The mage glanced up from her work, to see Lavena concentrating on her stitches.

"You seem so fierce at times, but then you back down when I would expect you to continue fighting."

"So? What's your point?"

"I just hope you don't lose your fire when you really need it." The priestess offered. The mage fell silent, as she quickly busied herself with the needle and thread. As the silence fell between them, Lavena's mouth went straight and she returned to her work.

"I'm very grateful for the work you've poured into the dress, but I can't go to the party." Marcail confessed.

"What?" The priestess stopped her stitches and looked up from her work. "I thought you agreed-"

"I said I would think about it." She murmured, "and I am very sorry, but I just can't do it." The priestess looked a little sad, but then she turned back to her work.

"Very well. I don't want to pressure you into anything," Lavena said.

.

After the last finishing touches were sewn on the dresses, Marcail thought she earned a rest. One that would extend until late in the evening, when Lavena would bring her the red dress and ask her to come down and show it off. However, she was pretty sure she didn't want to go anywhere near the party. She collapsed on the bed, and without changing her clothes she crawled into her bed and pulled the coverlet over herself and sighed. She closed her eyes and let herself ease into relaxtion. A knock on the door abruptly interrupted her. She peeked an eye open and saw the warrior letting himself into the room.

"Oh yeah, I wasn't trying to sleep at all. Please come in." She grumbled under her breath.

"What was that?" The warrior's face was sullen.

"I said, 'why are you here', Galen?" Marcail flustered, growing annoyed at him staring at her. She turned around and buried her head back into the pillow.

"I have a request for you."

"Whatever it is, the answer is no," she shot back. She heard quick, stomping footsteps coming closer to her, and she began to turn her head when a large hand clapped down on her shoulder and squeezed hard, jerking her from the bed to face him. She felt her heart leap into her throat with a small shock of fear and a load of surprise. The warrior bent over her form, propping one arm beside her and the other still holding her shoulder.

"You are not to speak to me that way. You are a _prisoner_, and don't you forget it." He snarled. She blanched and clenched her teeth, as the pain in her shoulder spread throughout her body while under the tight, iron grip of the night elf. She swallowed, but stuck her chin out, just a bit, in her own defiance.

"Fine," she looked into his fiery gaze, as she gritted her teeth. His grip loosened a bit, and his shoulders relaxed.

"Now, as I was saying. I want you to make an appearance tonight." Her jaw dropped. Had he gone insane? "Don't look at me like that, you heard me right. I want you to attend the midsummer ball, my sister said she tailored a dress special for you. You will act with the decorum and poise that I know is in there somewhere, Marcail." She could only hang her jaw in complete shock in response, because her vocal cords had somehow fallen into her stomach. She swallowed hard, and began to speak.

"Galen, this idea is so ludicrous. Why in holy hell would you parade _me _around a bunch of night elves who want to kill me?"

"I want you to see that my people aren't all what you think they are. I think this will be an experience for you."

"I won't do it."

"You will." He reprimanded. "Don't even think you can defy me." He threatened, shaking a finger at her. His grip tightened even more on her shoulder and she cried out in pain, jerking herself away from him.

"Fine!" She yelled out, cradling her arm. "I'll go, just leave me be!" She glared at him with the intensity that would have shriveled Illidan.

"Good girl," he shot a smug grin at her, before leaving the room in triumph. The mage watched as the door closed behind him before she hurled a pillow at the door.


	17. Chapter 17

The sun began to take it's place, peeking behind the thick trees of the forest, as it settled into early evening. Marcail could hear every note in her room with the open window, and saw that guests were beginning to arrive. Her window was located off to the side of the house, facing into the forest, but she could see the backyard off to the left. She tried to stay out of view as she watched carefully through her window. Night elves in beautiful costumes came trickling in to the courtyard, as they spread out and gathered in groups over various pleasures. Some were watching the fire display of three female night elves all dressed in golden and red costumes. They did tricks, juggling balls of fire, standing on their heads with one arm and throwing the fire balls back and forth to each other. She sighed heavily.

Marcail played with her skirts, picking them up to her ankles and flowing with the music that played outside the house. She checked the pin at the small of her back to make sure it was still on tight. She was grateful that Lavena found the time to help her into the dress, because the sashes were more complicated than she remembered. Could she really do this? This was insane!

As the music gathered at a crescendo, she breathed out. The tension and anxiety gripped her tightly, and she gritted her teeth. She was to make an appearance in front of some of her greatest enemies. What if she had killed one of their closest friends or family members? What if they knew exactly who she was? Was this how her demise would be orchestrated out? She swallowed hard, and glanced out of her room's windowsill. It looked like everyone was focused on the opening ceremonies. If she was to make an entrance, it would be best to do it now. Everyone's attention was elsewhere She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and forced herself out of the doorway.

.

Galen waited impatiently out in the courtyard, watching the opening ceremony halfheartedly. He kept glancing to the back of the house, where everything was decorated in beautiful gold banners and ribbons, searching for Marcail. Where in hellfire was that blood elf? She had better be coming. He fiddled with his cuff links on his sleeves as he tried to make eye contact with Lavena. She was standing with a group of friends a few yards away, but she was too distracted to look behind her. Glancing back again at the back porch, he saw a head of dark green hair headed toward him. The female caught his eye and smiled. Keina, the rogue, had made it out tonight, dressed in a light, icy blue gown that hugged her frame wondrously. He fondly smiled back, as she came up to stand beside him.

"Good evening, Galen," she whispered, curtseying politely. The warrior was glad he was standing in the far back of the crowd, as not to interrupt the elves happily watching the show.

"Good evening to you, Keina," he bowed graciously in reply.

When he straitened his back, he noticed something very different about the rogue. She had taken her hair down, and it looked much softer than usual. Her gown had a corset, and it gently thrust her bosom forward, giving him access to observe her charms. Her light blue gown was completely strapless, something he had never seen her wear before. The gown also seemed to be changing color in the light, going from light blue accents of green and yellow. He furrowed his brow, quizzically as he stared at the light playing off of the gown.

"Is there something wrong?" Keina asked, pulling his attention from the dress to her face.

"No, no," he replied, "forgive me, it's just your dress. How is it changing color like that?" The rogue giggled, putting a hand to her collarbone, making her appear enchantingly feminine.

"It's the material. Your sister would know, it's called taffeta."

"Taffeta," he repeated, "interesting." His mind and eyes instantly wandered to the back of the house.

"So," Keina started, snapping his attention back to her, "I have been wondering how your family was going to pull off the festival, but so far, this is been beautiful."

"Thank you," he smiled playfully. "But I had nothing to do with it. I should just stick to fighting."

Suddenly, the crowd got quiet, and he turned to look and see that everyone was staring at his back porch, even the rogue had stopped and stared. Her face had grown grim, and he looked in the direction, only to be caught in a trance.

There she was.

Even from where he was he could see how hard she was breathing. Her chest rising and falling as she stared bravely and unwavering in the entire eyes of the festival. Urgent whispers and anxious gasps blew around the crowd like a breeze, as no one moved a muscle.

It was like she were standing in a solar beam, the way she reflected the sunset right back at them. Her dress was strapless like Keina's, but it was in such a deep, firey red and the color was true and solid. She had two chiffon sashes, one draped over each shoulder, and falling down to her feet. They caught the light of the fire and illuminated flames dancing down her body. They both were held at her waist, where a sash of the same color had been wrapped tightly around her midsection, and pinned at the small of her back. Her hair was styled and pulled back with a very thin red headband, with a bright red feather attached to the side of her headband. It too, glittered like flames back at the crowd. The blood elf tossed her head back and stuck her chin out. She forced herself to walk forward, even though her legs were shaking so hard she feared she would fall over. Falling was better than just standing there awkwardly, she thought to herself as she descended the steps and joined the crowd.

Immediately, she felt Galen's eyes on her, and she looked over her shoulder to see him standing with a female. His gaze fastened on her, as he quickly approached her.

"Marcail," he murmured, his eyes swirling with desire. He offered her his arm to escort her into the fray, but her brows dropped and she turned her nose away from him. As she walked away she heard murmurs of disapproval. Marcail tried to convince herself not to care. As long as she carried herself with the same composure she was brought up with, she could try to survive this night. She would not let these people get the best of her.

Galen grit his teeth as she floated away, and he was left with her rejection. It left a sizable mark on his pride to have half of the aristocratic night elf culture watch the scene. He wanted to storm up to her and chide her for acting in such a way, but knew saving face was a better idea. Having her appear as his lessor would work in the short term, and his instincts screamed at him to make them both appear non-threateningly to the night elf community. He shrugged his shoulders and gave a smug, half smile to the crowd.

"Women." He said with a charming smile, and a laughter broke the tension. The crowd accepted his act and returned to their festivities. The worst was over, right?

.

Two shows were displayed on the main stage. Strange stares and glances were tossed her way, as well as whispers, but nothing else. Marcail squeezed the stem of her empty champagne glass. In the time it took for her to wish she had contracted some awful disease, she had drained it. She wondered if she got terribly drunk, Galen would dismiss her and let her go hide in her room. Just when she felt she was about to lose it, she saw Lavena in the corner of her eye. The priestess brought two flutes of champagne with her as she approached Marcail.

"You looked so calm up there!" She smiled, handing the blood elf one. She accepted it eagerly, and she quickly tipped the glass and sucked down the liquid. "Hey there," the priestess sounded worried, "are you okay?"

"I'll be fine," Marcail sighed. "But I wanted to collapse and die once everyone's eyes were on me. Especially when Galen came up to me."

"Oh! That was quite funny! I haven't seen him so flustered in a while."

"I don't ever want to do that again," the mage murmured.

"It's nice to see someone put him in his place." Lavena continued. "He needs it once and a while."

"And what was he thinking? I know everyone here thinks I'm evil, so why would he want to be seen with me?" Marcail asked, but Lavena shrugged in response.

"Lavena!" An angry voice gritted behind Marcail. They both turned to see Darine marching up to them. "How dare you put this blood elf in mother's dress!" She demanded, crossing her arms in front of her. The mage's eyes popped open as she turned to the priestess, alarm flashing.

"This dress was tiny, worn by mother when she was barely a woman. It wouldn't have fit any of us." Lavena defended. "It would have gone to waste."

"Better that than the alternative," Darine glared daggers at the blood elf. "I can't believe your audacity!"

"Hush, sister!" Lavena scolded. "Mother would have been happy to see forgiveness and compassion in this house." The female warrior almost opened her mouth again, before something else caught her eye. Two male night elves joined their group, and Darine greeted them and tried to control herself, bringing her rage down a notch.

Marcail looked back and forth at the two sisters, before finally settling her eyes on the two newcomers. One night elf was taller than all of them, and she concluded he had to be a warrior. With his physique and arrogant stance, he just radiated warrior. His shorter companion looked roguish. He looked like he was emerging into adulthood, his inexperienced, shy gaze giving him away all too clearly.

The tall one glanced at Marcail with a glint in his eye, before speaking to Darine in Darnassian. The female warrior let out a loud, obnoxious laugh. His rogue friend snickered along with them. The mage's eyes narrowed.

"What did he say?" Marcail inquired to Lavena.

"Nothing that would be polite to repeat in a civilized conversation." Came Darine's reply, not even looking at her while she looked admirably at the tall night elf.

"If the remark was that uncivil, than I must question the class of such a place." Marcail quipped. Darine's attention snapped back to the blood elf to shoot a piercing glare.

"I'm still here, and I am embarrassed for you, Darine." Lavena instantly brought a wave of relief to the mage. "And you're right, it's not for civilized conversation." The younger sister fired off a comment in Darnassian that made the whole group look guilty. The roguish night elf pointed at the refreshment table, and encouraged them to follow him with a wave of his hand. Darine and the other male night elf followed him.

"Just out of curiosity, but what _did _he say?" The blood elf asked, once she was sure that Darine and her friends were out of earshot. Upon hearing the question, Lavena's complexion went crimson.

"Well, let's just say it wouldn't be nice to hear, even in a tavern."

"I can't say I'm surprised," the mage rolled her eyes, fiddling with the material on the skirt of her dress. "This was a mistake, I really shouldn't even be here."

"Don't say that, you were invited." The priestess smiled. "Come, let's just walk around for a bit."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Marcail said, but the priestess didn't listen to her. She pulled the mage along and they visited the refreshment table and watched some of the fire dancers. All the while, Marcail kept sipping on champagne to keep from being too anxious.

The mage down at her feet when she saw a cheese biscuit on a plate being handed to her. She looked up and met the charming gaze of a male night elf with short, spikey, dark green hair. He spoke some words in Darnassian, and Marcail smiled politely and shook her head. Lavena explained in Darnassian her predicament.

"Ah, so I see, you are new here." The male elf spoke in Orcish. Her eyes lit up considerably in bewilderment. "Yes, I can speak your language. I have learned it in Stormwind."

"Marcail, this is Camdyn Whistletree. He works as an Ambassador of Darnassas to the human city of Stormwind." Lavena explained in Thalassian. The mage nodded.

"You must forgive me, I am both terribly confused and pleasantly surprised that I have another person I can speak to at this party." She shook her head. "I didn't even know that Orcish was taught at Stormwind."

"It isn't taught to the general public. There is a blood elf that lives in Stormwind and frequents the castle. She has taught a select few of us the language of the horde."

"Is she a slave?" Her brows drew in worry, and the night elf laughed.

"No, no. She is there on her own free will. She left her people and the horde to be with the King. She is loyal to the King, but insists that she is neither horde or alliance."

"What would ever compel a blood elf to leave her home for people who only wish to see us dead?"

"My," amusement danced in Camdyn's eyes, "it seems you have the old ways in your heart. Tell me, what have you learned from your own experience with night elves?"

"Well, I've always been told that you all hate us because we were addicted to the Sunwell's magic, but that's not fair since the night elves had the world tree. I see that as hypocritical."

"That's not what I asked you. That is only what you have been told. I asked you what your personal experiences have been with us." Camdyn waited patiently, with his kindness reflected in his face. Marcail searched her mind, looking for the truth.

"Well," she began, pushing her tongue against her cheek. "Galen was incredibly rude to me when I first met him." She decided to leave the logistics of how they met out. It wasn't a good idea to advertise that she was up for ransom. "He made a mistake that almost cost me my life, but he became very focused on healing me after that. I was surprised that he made that much effort." She blushed a little, looking away and into the forest. "He also helped me with something very personal, and I am grateful for that." She felt warmth growing in her chest as she remembered him staying up all night, watching her on the ship after she drank herself into a stupor.

"What about the rest of my family?" Lavena smiled, placing a hand on the mage's arm. She jumped a little, but couldn't help but return the priestess' smile.

"Your father is wise, Darine is loyal, Isla is thoughtful, Melluna is joyful, and you have shown me nothing but kindness since I got here." With that, she saw the priestess blush a little, and then turn her gaze back to Camdyn.

"There have been some trying moments on our relationship, but I have really come to enjoy Marcail's company." She turned back to the mage and grinned. A warm, welcoming feeling grew in her chest, very similar to the feelings she would get when Hayden was around.

"I would be lying if I said I wasn't interested in learning some of your dances, Marcail," Camdyn's voice smoothed over her like silk. She flushed and smiled.

"I couldn't-" she started, "I mean with so many people watching," she trailed off. "How about we keep this simple, and I just try to blend in with one of your dances?" She replied.

"A rain check, then," the Ambassador grinned and grabbed her hand, pulling her out on the dance floor. A laugh washed over the mage, as she felt a little of the alcohol blur the world a little. _Why not go ahead and live a little? You'll never get another chance like this in your lifetime._ She said to herself as she let Camdyn lead her in the beginning steps. His arm snaked around her waist as she was forced to get closer to the stranger. He linked his large hand into her delicate one, as the warmth of his skin radiated into hers. She looked beyond her partner and tried to watch and imitate the other women around her.

"Relax," he reassured her. "You're shaking." She nodded gently, and concentrated on following Camdyn's dance. His grip on her hand was light and encouraging, like an old friend's touch.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. The night elf gave her a smile that made her nervousness melt a little. They danced along with the steps, and then Camdyn told her the story of the first time he danced with a female. It was very embarrassing, and with a human woman. The woman was very drunk, much older than he had been, and tried to get him to come home with her. The way Camdyn explained it to her, it sounded so humorous and awkward, she couldn't help but laugh.

"I am glad that this dance is going better," he grinned.

"Me too," she replied, as the world around her began to smear in her vision. As the world got a little more hazy, she felt the worst part of her anxiety start to numb. They danced a while longer, and he pulled her in closer when she started to trip. He took her small form into his own, protecting her from the outside gazes and stares. She felt comfortable with him, but felt a slight pang of remorse. She ached for a familiar navy-haired warrior holding her instead.

.

Galen watched as Camdyn Whistletree whisked his pretty little blood elf on the dance floor. _Mine._ The word angrily shook through his body.

Yes, she was his. She was under his care, his watch, and his authority, and that made her his. He went through hell and back just to bring her here, to his home. He felt his skin burning on his body like it was coated in a light coat of acid. He wanted to rip them apart, and make the Ambassador pay for ever touching her. The bastard even made her laugh! Marcail looked like she was enjoying herself, as her beautiful smile was on display for Camdyn. That smile should have been gifted to him.

Galen held back a scoff as he faded behind the crowd that wasn't dancing. He was determined to get a dance with his blood elf.

.

Marcail finished yet another dance with the Ambassador, and she finally begged him to take a break with her and have some cooling water to drink. He tried to convince her for another dance after they had their refreshments, but she declined, telling him that she had a slight headache from all the excitement and needed to go to bed. Camdyn asked if he could see her again, and the blood elf inwardly flinched as she told him to ask the Moonglades for permission. He promised he would receive their blessing, before he gave her a kiss on her hand and took his leave. She smiled after him as he disappeared in the crowd.

The blood elf quickly found her feet as she started to walk toward the lake. After all, listening to a few songs before heading off to bed seemed soothing. The music that was being played now seemed softer than the earlier tunes. She decided that enjoying them by the seclusion of the lake would be most enjoyable. Marcail stepped lightly as she found a remote place near the forest to observe.

She took her spot and swayed with the music as she stood by the lake. She leaned her body against a tree, thoughtfully, as the glimmer on the water reflected back in her face and creamy shoulders. Wistfully thinking, the party the Moonglades threw reminded her of her own midsummer ball that was probably going to happen in Silvermoon in a week or two. She hadn't picked out her dress because her mother promised to take her shopping at the Bazaar. It was too bad that she wouldn't get to wear Lavena's dress in her hometown. She doubted she'd ever find one as pretty in Silvermoon.

"You look like you're waiting for something," a deep masculine voice said behind her. The blood elf jerked around, to see Galen coming toward her with a look of sheer determination on his face. "Or for someone." He grinned and stepped closer to her. She felt her heart leap into her throat.

"I'm waiting for neither," she replied in a voice so unlike her own; it sounded nervous, small, and unprepared to speak to the warrior. She cleared her throat, gently.

"I wanted to ask you if you would like to dance."

"No, thank you."

"Come on, I've been watching you all night. You like dancing."

"I don't know any of your dances."

"You did fine with Camdyn." In one movement, he scooped his arm around her small waist and pulled her closer to his body and his other hand laced with hers. They both instantly picked up the steps of an age-old dance from the time there was only one race of elves. Marcail wanted to fight back, but her body deliciously molded and softened to him on it's own accord.

"I wanted to tell you that you did wonderfully tonight." She sniffed in disagreement.

"I only stuck around for a few hours at most."

"You were very brave. I know it was hard for you."

"Then why did you make me do it?"

"Because I knew you could."

Silence between them settled as the music off in the distance still crept into the forest, as the wind blowing through the trees caused them to sway along with the two elves. Electricity shot between them, as the affects of the champagne instantly disappeared. There seemed to be a pattern. Whenever he gave her a look of hunger that gave into some unspoken desire, her senses when into overload. The feel of his bare hand on her naked shoulder made her body tingle all over.

"Also, you look beautiful tonight," he looked down at her and gave her a heart-stopping smile, and pulled her closer, so that the top of her breasts grazed his chest every so often. He also got a good look into her cleavage, with his towering height. She suddenly wished that Lavena hadn't let so much of her bosom exposed, as her softness gave into his rock hard male form. A light blush dusted her cheeks and nose. To tempt her even further he leaned to whisper in her ear, though they were far from being overheard. His proximity to her face brought tingles down her spine.

"I was going insane watching Camdyn talking to you. He even stole a genuine smile."

"Perhaps you should give me something to smile about, and I shall do the same for you," her voice sounded uneven and throaty as she turned her head to look him in the eyes. A twinkle reflected back at her as a roguish grin followed.

"I can give you that and so much more pleasure you've never even known." His seductive voice and proximity was beginning to overwhelm her. At the rate he was going, she might beg him to show her right here and now.

"We shouldn't," she began.

"I know, doesn't that make you want it more?" His hand shot up from her waist and cupped the back of her head to tilt her lips to his.

Their lips met, delicately, while he threaded his hand in her soft, honey-gold locks. He started their kiss gently, like he had before with all the others. Her body silently pleaded him as she softly kissed him back.

Dancing was forgotten as he started gently pushing her backward. He kept guiding them back, into the forest, away from prying eyes and judgmental stares. His answer to her statement filled her with warning bells. This was really going into dangerous territory, because what he said was so true. This waswrong. This went against everything she was taught, everything she was supposed to hold dear and what she was. Night elves were bad, kissing him was worse, but this just felt so _right_. The way he held her and gently caressed her at the small of her back, and the way he ran his strong, calloused finger pads so lightly across her bare shoulder, it all felt right. She felt herself being backed up into the trunk of a large tree, and he braced himself with one arm above her shoulder, and the other carefully slipping the sheer scarves from her shoulder off. They fell to her waist, but the corset still held her dress up.

Galen's arm splayed at the small of her back as he pulled her body into his own. She arched to him, with her belly and chest molded to his form. Very slowly, he pulled the ribbons of her corset. He was careful to drag out the process, gently coercing her to follow his movements. Precision and long periods of tension seemed to be working, the way she gave a soft sigh and relaxed when the ribbons were loose. He then grabbed the back of her thighs, his large hands grazing against her round bottom and coming dangerously close to her sex. She rewarded him with a pleasured gasp and tore herself away from his kiss, only to be recaptured again as his tongue rolled over her lower lip. He tilted her hips up and pulled her into his middle, as she still stood on the ground. He pressed his throbbing rod into her belly, driving her back into the tree. He couldn't get enough of her.

"Wrap your legs around me, Princess" he beckoned her, and then quickly recaptured her mouth.

Marcail moaned gently as she felt his fingers rubbing lazy circles around the sensitive area where her rump and the back of her thighs met. She complied, and he lifted her feet off of the grass. He moved her from the tree with ease, as if her added weight were nothing to him. The sounds of the wild nature of the forest filled the background noise as he growled into her, sending vibrations of pleasure down her body. He still held her tight in his grasp, protecting her from the decent to the ground. Marcail lowered her body to the cool grass beneath them. Galen followed her, leaning himself closer on top of her, pushing her skirts up over her smooth and creamy thigh. He pulled on the last ribbons holding the corset together, and she felt her chest expanding with each breath. She finally wiggled herself free and the world blurred and spun with all her breath returning to her lungs. She encouraged his pleasurable torture. Even if she wanted to she didn't know how to ask him to stop. She yielded without protest or a struggle, and all the while she found each new sensation brought her to a new high. She was so tired of fighting herself, and all of the blind anger had melted into blazing lust. Galen seemed to know exactly what she was feeling, and he knew how to answer that maddening call.

Galen pulled at the front of the corset, and nipped at her neck. Her breasts sprung free and he pulled himself up to admire them. He grinned wolfishly, as her creamy skin met the small circles of her pink nipples. She blushed nervously and looked away. Under the scrutiny of such an experienced lover, she feared she did not compare.

"Elune, you're beautiful," he breathed, and dove back down, ravishing her neck with little flicks of his tongue against her sweet spots. Her heart soared at his approval and his contact. One large hand came to caress a breast, and he kissed his way down to her collarbone, then her chest.

"What- Ohh!" She gasped as he closed his lips around one of her rosy nipples. The pleasure rolled over her in soft waves.

He wrapped his mouth around the rosette, as he tried to pull his mind back into his head. The little mage had devoured his mind, and gone was all thought of rationality. His body seared with heat as he ran his hands up her skirts, pushing them around her waist. Her heart skipped a beat when he brought his fingers to her pleasure nub and rubbed her gently. His vision went red as he felt her petals slick and wet for him. Masculine pride engulfed him as he teased her entrance, as he felt her tighten around his fingerpads.

Her heat soared, and her sex throbbed in remembrance of his hands there. She moaned in approval, throwing her head back and allowing her body the attention it so desperately pleaded for. She heard the shuffling of fabric, and he took his hand away from her. She wanted to cry out, but he fastened his mouth over her breast, nipping at the hard little bud that sent her to new thrilling heights. She sighed and relaxed, loving the feeling that swept over her body.

Suddenly, Marcail felt the length of him sliding inside her, and she froze. She choked and jerked when the deep pain ached within her and took over her senses. Galen felt her slick passageway close on him, but then he was met with a strong resistance. She cried out, then he held himself still and went rigid. His brows furrowed as he tore himself from her chest.

"You're still a virgin." He gritted. He felt a touch of anger for Marcail not sharing this with him before. He also could have made this a lot less painful if he had the warning.

"Don't be mad," she whispered, her voice pleading. Galen felt lower than dirt in that moment. He felt unworthy to take her after how he just spoke to her.

"I'm not mad, Princess. I just wish I had known before so I could have made that less painful." He softened, kissing her forehead and stroked her cheek with a finger. He kissed the tip of her nose, and then trailed down her neck, nibbling gently at her collarbone.

"I thought you wouldn't want me," she said, her voice growing husky with her arousal coming back. Galen stopped his caresses again to make unmistakeable eye contact with her emerald gaze.

"That would do nothing to dampen my need for you." He held her tight, "Trust me." The weight of his words and demeanor struck the mage speechless. He broke their gaze, as he went back to pleasuring her by nipping down to her breast. When his lips closed over a nipple, she moaned and arched her back to him.

"Please don't stop," she begged, wiggling her hips and stirring him inside her. Quick, hot waves shot up his rod, sending wild sensations of pleasure through his body. He gritted his teeth as he grabbed her hips to steady her and swore.

"If you don't stop that right now, I will _not_ be able to hold myself back." He ground out through his locked jaw and corded muscles in his neck. His fingers buried themselves in her hips as he fought for control. Marcail stopped rolling her hips, eyes wide with wonder of what she had just done to him. He drew in a shaky breath and steadied himself.

"This will hurt for a little, but I promise it will subside," he murmured, as he began to shift his hips. He gently pushed himself inside her wet sheath, and he had to force himself to stop halfway, when he heard a tiny whimper. He bowed his head back down to her breast and laved at one, and brought his hand around to play with the other. He rolled the hard nub with his fingers, and she shivered beneath him. He pulled his hips back, and allowed himself a shallow thrust back inside her wet channel.

The powerful ache returned, and she almost asked him to stop. He continued his slow torture on her breasts, and each nibble, pinch and suck sent waves of pleasure that took over the pain. Galen kept his steady rhythm, she felt it melt away as he promised. Her body responded as she felt him thrust deeper into her, and she curled her back to him, offering more of herself.

He felt more of his control quickly slipping away with each stroke into her tight wet grip. She slowly warmed and relaxed to him, and he felt her jitters quiet down. She gave a deep sigh, and she finally opened herself completely to him. Droplets of sweat formed on his forehead, as he strained to hold in his release. He shocked himself with how quickly he was ready to spill, but the way her small body accommodated his sensitive girth quickly reminded him this was no ordinary lay. He looked up at her, to see her eyes closed and panting lightly. He brought himself over her, and lowered his face to hers.

"Open your eyes," he beckoned her, and she lightly opened her heavy lids, gazing back at him with hunger. "I want to watch you come apart in my arms." He murmured, and with that he sheathed himself completely, reaching deeper and demanding her channel to take all of him. She gasped and her hands clasped his forearms that braced himself above her. He curled his hips back and dove into her again, and she shuttered hard. Her mind was taken completely in his hardness driving into her depths, and each thrust pushing against something inside her that made her see stars. Before she even knew she was building, her climax shattered around her, and she threw her head back and cried out, as her walls convulsed around his length. Galen finally let himself go as he felt her wet heat surround him, squeezing and caressing his member. He gave a deep, guttural groan as he felt his orbs tighten and he expelled the white ribbons of his seed deep within her. He sighed and collapsed beside her.

Marcail winced in pain as he withdrew, and then he gathered her up in his arms from behind. She felt him bury his face in her hair and breathe deep. She gave a deep sigh and relaxed into his embrace. They lay there, quietly just listening to the sounds of each others breaths as they melded with the sounds of the forest.

As the affects of the afterglow started to wear off, Galen sat up, and pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his dress suit. He reached underneath her skirts and between the mage's slender legs to clean his seed and her maidenhead from her inner thighs and petals. The mage blushed with the act and started to cover herself in modesty, but he moved her hands away.

"Please don't," he begged. She snapped to attention, wondering if she heard him right. He was _begging_? His eyes softened at met hers. "You're so beautiful, I can't imagine why you feel you need to cover up."

He pulled her head toward his and gave it a gentle, light kiss. When he released her, she still wore the light blush in her cheeks. He ran his thumb over her lower lip, and she parted her lips. Her glistening skin caught the moonlight peaking through the trees. He forgot how to breathe as her catlike eyes glittered at him. Her pert nose twitched a little as she gave a little grin.

"What are you thinking right now?"

"I could search Azeroth for a thousand years and not find another woman as beautiful as you are." She blushed deeper, as she tried to look away.

Galen quickly realized she hadn't been told that before, or she honestly didn't share the same opinion of herself. It was refreshing to know that little fact. Especially since the blood elves carried themselves with such an air of superiority. Even in his short time of fighting with them, Galen could feel the conceit when they crossed blades. Most blood elves he had seen in Dalaran were stunning, but they all knew it. Marcail didn't share this trait, even with her aristocratic blood line. Sure, Galen had his own arrogance, but it had nothing to do with how he looked. He felt he earned a decent amount of respect in the Alliance after everything he had done for them.

"From this night forward, Marcail," she met his gaze when he said her name, "I want you to share my bed." The mage grew concerned as the weight of his words settled with her.

"I don't think that's a good idea. Your family-"

"My family doesn't dictate my life. I want you to stay with me, every night that you are here." Her heart fluttered against her ribs.

"You don't really understand what you're asking. I'm still a blood elf."

"I don't care if you are a consort troll to Thrall himself. I want you with me. Promise me." His voice grew brisk and raw with his last words. She slowly nodded, staring deep into his pleading amber eyes.

"I promise," she echoed, not really taking into account what she had agreed to. All she knew was that she had brought the seasoned warrior to beg. She had to admit, if all love-making sessions were going to be like the one they just shared, she was going to be pleased. In every way the warrior could find.

"Now that just leaves us with one problem." He gave a playful grin, as a lock of his dark hair fell over his eyes.

"Oh? What's that?" She sighed, still enchanted with him and his smile.

"How are we going to get back to the house?"

.

They had worked out a way that kept themselves mostly out of view to the party. Galen helped Marcail lace back up into her gown, and tried to brush off the dirt and grass as best he could. Marcail smoothed her hands over the wrinkles.

"I'm going to enjoy removing this from you again," he winked and she smiled and rolled her eyes. Truthfully, so was she. She helped straighten Galen's clothes before he sent her back to the house.

"Just stick to the lake, and go around to the front door. You should not run into anyone in that case."

"And if I run into someone?" She asked, anxiously.

"Make it quick, and stand away from the light. I will be right behind you." He promised. They made their way to the forest clearing, and the mage retrieved headband she had unknowingly lost. She replaced it on her head, and glanced back at the warrior before she walked out. He gave her a smile of encouragement. She tentatively returned it, and briskly walked the path to the lake.

Each step was painful, and she felt warm liquid drip down her thighs. She grasped the gown in each hand as she hiked the skirts up slightly. The sooner she got in cover, the sooner she could get the sticky liquid off of her legs. The pain in her womb started again, and she clenched her teeth. It would be much more painful to be caught in such a compromising state. She kept glancing up at the party, and saw that a several groups of night elves were by the lake area and on the dock. She kept her head down, and tried to walk a little faster, as she felt the burn of eyes on her body. She prayed to the Light that no one tried to stop her.

Once she reached the trees beside the house, she followed the path that led to the front door of the estate. When she got to the clearing, she almost gasped with the view of all the carriages and driving teams in the sprawling front yard. It expanded on all of the lawn, and a receiving line on the opposite side of the house was still being served. She crept to the front door and let herself in, but not before the whole crowd of night elves got a glimpse of her heading inside. She slammed the door shut behind her, and threw her back against the wood, bracing herself. She expelled a breath she didn't know she was holding as she collected her thoughts.

What in hellfire just happened? She was happily kissing Galen, and then, wham! She was hit with such an unstoppable force, and she had given her maidenhead to him! A night elf! Was she mad?

Then, she remembered his touch trailing a length of flame in its wake on her skin. She wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes as she felt his embrace and his lips. She almost gasped as she could have sworn she felt the feel of his teeth on her hard buds. She reached up and clasped a breast and her heart swelled as big as her body. It seemed that she was more teased then sated with their coupling. She felt her body nagging her to hurry up and get settled in Galen's room. There wasn't any time for regrets when he had promised another love making session.


End file.
